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endlessthxxghts · 5 months

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Do You Like It Here?

Joel Miller x afab!Reader || W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel contemplates shaving his beard. You are absolutely against that idea, and he makes you explain why.

Content/Warnings: Pics above are for aesthetic purposes only. Neutral descriptions of an AFAB reader (“your top”, “your shorts”, “your breast”, etc.). No use of “y/n”. Joel can carry you but there are no other descriptions of reader. Implied age gap if you squint. Joel being big and burly. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Joel being a menace. Hints of body worship. Dirty talk. Reader liking facial hair for dirty reasons🤷🏻. Joel on his knees for you…. ✨Bathroom counter✨ Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Face grinding. Hair pulling (m receiving). Joel’s fucking nose deserves a warning😵‍💫 Allusions to further sexual activity. As always, let me know if I’ve missed anything!

A/N: Can we tell how much I think about Joel eating pussy?💚 My sweet sweet Roman Empire. Enjoy. :-)

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG -> @endlessthxxghtsnotifs

“Should I shave it off?”

You choke on your own spit, eyebrows hitting the ceiling. “What?”

“My beard. All this scruff. Should I shave it?” Joel asks you, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against his jaw, his eyes surfing his jawline in the mirror much too critically for your liking.

“Do you want to?” You reply back, curious to understand what is going on in that chaotic mind of his.

“No? Yeah? I mean,” he breathes. “I dunno. A lotta white is startin’ to come through, ‘n I feel like it makes me look… raggedy.”

You frown. “Baby,” you say softly.

You woke up before Joel, last night’s activities knocking him out cold right after you two cleaned each other up. Unfortunately for you, no matter how hard you fell into your slumber, your body always woke you no later than 7am. It was a blessing and a curse. You decided a shower was in order.

As soon as you finished and got dressed, your burly, grumpy and sleepy baby of a man stumbled into the bathroom. Wanting his presence always, you hopped up on the bathroom counter, your legs hanging off the edge, and stayed with him as he continued his morning routine. It was after he brushed his teeth and washed his face that he posed his question to you.

You place your hand on his jaw and pull him closer so he’s standing in between your legs. The light press of your fingertips never leave his face. “You don’t look raggedy,” you scold. “You look… well, you look fuckin’ sexy, for one. I love this look on you,” you admit, a little sheepish. Your eyes scan his facial hair once more before you glance at his eyes, then to his lips. Your finger traces his bottom lip. “So fuckin’ sexy,” you mutter, emphasizing your claim.

You don’t have to look into his eyes to know his demeanor shifted. You can feel the way his gaze darkened. He pulls himself closer to you, his knees knocking the cabinets. His hand starts on your knee, dragging it up your thigh and up your side until it settles on your jaw, his fingers grasping your chin to make you meet his eye. “Oh, is that so, darlin’?”

You gulp, your head softly nodding at his words; unable to speak as your eyes gloss over. “What else d’ya love about it, darlin’?” He pushes, his fingers tightening on your chin—words, he’s telling you.

You can feel every part of your body heat up. “It…it…” you stutter. His eyebrow flicks up with a faintness only you’d catch. You clear your throat in hopes it makes you speak up. “You- you’re already so big ‘n broad, ‘n this… the scruff… it just adds to- to you,” you tell him shakily, your brain starting to flood with just how much you love his facial hair. “P-plus, it- oh my god,” you whine, unable to stop the spew of shit that’s about to fly out of your mouth. “It feels so good when it rubs against my thighs ‘n my-” you gasp. You don’t remember when it got there, but his other hand is gripping your thigh, his strength tightening at the last words that fell from your lips.

Slow, tantalizingly slow, he leans in. He places a lengthy kiss to your lips; your eagerness gets the best of you as you try and deepen it, but he’s already breaking away—moving down. His lips grace your jaw, your neck—more open-mouthed and needy these ones are, and he pauses. “Ya like how it feels here?” He says against your neck. Then he’s moving lower.

He peppers kisses along your shoulder and the exposed parts of your chest your top shows. He licks and sucks at a particular sweet spot atop your breast. A breathy little moan escapes you, your arms falling limp to your sides—and out of his way. He pauses his kiss to breathe you in. Lavender. Vanilla. The shower you just finished still clinging deliciously to your skin. “Ya like it here, too, don’tcha?” He places one more kiss on the mark he just gave you, not giving you a moment to respond.

Then. He’s falling to his knees. Today was supposed to be a lazy day for you two, so you settled on solely a pair of sleep shorts. Nothing more. His hands settle themselves underneath your thighs, scooting you as close to the edge as possible without making you off balance. He’s so tall that on his knees, his nose is belly button level with you.

He pushes your thighs open. Starting at your knee, he places a swift kiss there. The higher he goes, the wetter and slower they become. A drop of sweat beads down your neck. His hands make their way to your sides, fingers dancing along the waistband. He meets your eyes for a silent confirmation. Planting your hands behind you for stability, you lift your hips for him, a whimpered please leaves your mouth.

He pulls your shorts off slowly—the wetness staining the center of your shorts peels off of you, the cold air interacting with your slick sends a shiver down your spine. Joel lets your shorts fall to the floor beside him, his eyes darting to your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ wet,” he growls. “All worked up from my white beard? My old age?”

“‘S not what I meant,” you sputter, the kiss he places to your mound throwing you off-kilter. His hands grab onto your waist and he’s angling your hips forward, giving himself a full view of you. He does it again—kisses your sex—but this time, he puts his whole face into you as he uses his tongue to aid him, his scruff tickling all around, on your thighs, your clit. Your hips buck into his face at the sensation, a louder moan reverberating against the bathroom walls.

“Oh,” Joel smirks. “Right there, huh. Ya like the way it feels right there? Right there on that sweet, perfect fuckin’ cunt, huh? Drives you mad? Wild?” He teases.

You lament at his words, conflicted between which you want more—hearing his mouth or feeling his mouth? You're pulled from your internal battle when you feel yourself become impossibly wetter: a glob of warm spit lands right where you need him most. Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah okay, you want to feel him.

One hand behind you leaves from its place and reaches for his curls in an attempt to pull him into you. “Joel, baby, please,” you cry.

His head doesn’t budge no matter how strong you are. “Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” he tells you. “Tell me what I wanna hear first, and then I’ll give it t’ya exactly, baby. Just be the good girl I know y’are f’me.”

“F-fuck. Fuck. Please, Joel, please-” you say impatiently. “I love the way it feels when I grind my fuckin’ pussy all over your face, baby, I love how it feels when it starts to burn against my thigh, the way it nudges and scrapes every part of me- it makes me feel like I’m on fuckin’ fire, baby, please,” you rasp.

“Atta girl, darlin’,” he coos, licking his lips before his hands pull you flush against his face, his tongue flying straight to your seam, licking a messy path that sends your slick and his spit everywhere. Instantly your head flies back, your hand curls into the roots of his hair once more as you moan and squirm against his grasp.

Joel loves spending his time down there, but regardless of the fact, you’ll never get used to how fucking good he makes you feel. Joel is ruthless when it comes to eating you out—always making you see stars even in the light of day.

“F-fuck, j-just like that, baby,” you pant, your one arm keeping you up threatening to lose balance at the greedy touch of his skillful tongue. He drags his muscle from your entrance and up to your clit, running circles and figure eights on it for a moment before he latches onto you—his lips completely wrapped as he suckles and continues to flick where you’re most sensitive. His dominant hand leaves your hip and he drags his fingers to your opening, his middle finger sliding in with ease—the sensation sending you to the edge of something white, hot, and all-consuming.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum, Joel, shit, I’m gonna cum-” you squeak, your entire body feeling flushed at his actions.

He pulls his finger out of you, his hand finding its rightful place perched against your hip as he pulls you impossibly closer once again, your ass nearly hanging off the bathroom counter, his grip the only thing keeping you up. Your arm loses its strength and you fall limp, your head thumping against the bathroom mirror, completely at the disposal of your man as he ravishes your sobbing pussy.

He lifts off your clit momentarily. “Give it t’me, sweet girl,” he tells you in a frenzy. His mouth is on you again, his tongue going straight to your hole—his tongue pushes inside of you as much as he can, his face pulled tightly against you. He begins moving, advancing his tongue in and out as you mindlessly begin grinding against face. With every upward push of your hip, his nose nudges at your clit and the pure ecstasy that washes through you is evident in the way you’re practically mewling above him, your obscene moans and gasps enough to make Joel’s hips thrust into nothing on their own accord in an attempt to seek some kind of relief.

More arousal pours from you, and Joel is quick to drink it up. You can feel the way his tongue flexes as he gulps, and fuck, that is what sends you reeling. You yank onto his hair tighter, driving your hips into his face at a ravenous pace—practically fucking his face—and then it hits you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your back arches in this awkward angle, your orgasm hits you hard. It’s without warning, heart-pounding, toe-curling, addicting, and everything Joel.

Your lips are babbling nothing coherent, the occasional drop of his name escaping your mouth as he continues to fuck you through your high. He’s moving much slower now, much more precise—as if he’s doing this solely for his benefit now, not yours. Which, you don’t mind. Even as you start to slip into overstimulating territory, you don’t want him to stop.

You’d lay at his mercy for him to use you in any way he pleases if it meant you got to experience what it means to be loved by a man like Joel. With him, it’s all or none—none of that half in, half out bullshit. No, when Joel loves, he loves hard, and it’s evident in everything he does for you. Especially when it comes to your pleasure.

A particular lick to your clit causes you to yelp out in a pleasurable pain, so Joel finally rises again, kissing your spent cunt one last time before he pulls you up, rubbing up and down your spine to ease the uncomfortable position you were in.

“You okay?” Joel asks, slight concern and slight amusement on his features as he looks at your face. Pure bliss and contentment fills your features; he can still see the fog clearing from your head.

“Yeah,” you mutter softly, a lazy grin plastered on your cheeks as you look up at his shiny face. Weakly, you bring your arms up and wrap them around his neck, pulling him in to kiss you. He takes the hint, and he bends down, letting your lips meet in a soft yet enthusiastic embrace. You love the way you taste, especially when it comes from his mouth.

Pulling away breathless, both your and Joel’s eyes are aflame again.

“Don’t shave, baby.”

“I won’t, darlin’.”

You kiss him once more before he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you back to bed.

You were wrong. It’s going to be a busy day after all.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope it made your private parts tingle you enjoyed💚 If you’d like to be notified for upcoming fics, follow my notif blog!

@pedrostories

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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AITA for bitching about fics I dislike on my blog?

as a foreword, this is kind of a non-issue and no one's ever told me to stop, but I'm curious what other people think of fandom etiquette.

the fandom: a fairly small one. 2.4k fics on ao3 small. I recognize most people posting in its tumblr tag small. if I tell you the name of the source you'd almost definitely be able to find me small.

the source: pornographic, which means everyone involved is or should be an adult. it's BL with a switch MC, but the fandom overwhelmingly prefers bottom MC/top LIs (love interests), to the point where I've had people be astonishingly rude to me because my favorite character is a bottom LI and some of my friends have been outright harassed for the same. I used to not care about sex positions in the slightest, but now when I see bottom MC fanworks I can't help but remember how poorly I was treated.

the fics: wildly and inexplicably popular, even though they are, frankly, poorly written. it's eternal bottom MC turned up to 11, complete with copious amounts of OOCness in order to turn every ship into the worst ye olde yaoi gender roles dynamic you can imagine. it's things like MC, canonically a 23yo plank of a dudeguy, being written as a big titted milf in his 40s (which is made more confusing by the fact that one of the LIs is already a big titted milf). it's also things like the MC being written as disliking sex and having to be coerced into it when one of the most charming things about him is that he's a hilarious sex pest, or writing the LIs sexually harassing the MC when they really would never do that. I've likened it to replacing the characters with OCs that share the same name and my friends have agreed with me. I'm honestly convinced that the author and his readers don't actually like any of the characters if they feel the need to change everyone so thoroughly.

why I might be an asshole: it's assholish to hate on free fanworks, and I've bitched about these fics on my public tumblr blog. the fandom is small enough that there's a non-zero chance of it getting back to the author and a reasonable chance that fans of the fics have seen my bitching. I'm probably projecting the hostility I've received onto someone who's done absolutely nothing to me, and I am absolutely just straight up jealous that their fics get better stats than mine. I may also be being an asshole to myself, because being critical of other people's fics has made my hypercritical of my own.

why I don't think I'm an asshole: I think everyone has the right to be bad at things, but I also think everyone has the right to be a little hater. I don't put the fandom tag on these posts; they stay on my blog and my blog alone, and if later on I feel like I was unfairly vitriolic I'll delete the posts. I only post on tumblr because I'm certain the author in question only uses twitter, which dramatically lowers the odds of him stumbling across my posts. the fics are so popular that it's definitely possible that their fans would see my posts, but I think it's unlikely that they'd bother looking at my blog because 99% of my posts are about one of the bottom LIs. I have never and would never leave comments on the fics themselves, and I generally try to keep the bitchy posts to a minimum; it's far from a constant thing.

tl;dr - I publicly bitch about fics that (in my opinion) are poorly written and extremely OOC, under the assumption that it's unlikely the author would ever see it. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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qqueenofhades · 6 months

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Hello! This is kind of a weird ask, I'm sorry to bother you, but seeing as you're a very intelligent studied historian that I deeply respect, I was hoping you could offer some advice? Or like, things i could read? Lately, i feel like my critical thinking skills are emaciated and its scaring the shit out of me. I feel very slow and like I'm constantly missing important info in relation to news/history/social activism stuff. Thats so vague, sorry, but like any tips on how i can do better?

Aha, thank you. There was recently a good critical-thinking infograph on my dash, so obviously I thought I remembered who reblogged it and checked their blog, it wasn't them, thought it was someone else, checked their blog, it also wasn't them, and now I can't find it to link to. Alas. But I will try to sum up its main points and add a few of my own. I'm glad you're taking the initiative to work on this for yourself, and I will add that while it can seem difficult and overwhelming to sort through the mass of information, especially often-false, deliberately misleading, or otherwise bad information, there are a few tips to help you make some headway, and it's a skill that like any other skill, gets easier with practice. So yes.

The first and most general rule of thumb I would advise is the same thing that IT/computer people tell you about scam emails. If something is written in a way that induces urgency, panic, the feeling that you need to do something RIGHT NOW, or other guilt-tripping or anxiety-inducing language, it is -- to say the least -- questionable. This goes double if it's from anonymous unsourced accounts on social media, is topically or thematically related to a major crisis, or anything else. The intent is to create a panic response in you that overrides your critical faculties, your desire to do some basic Googling or double-checking or independent verification of its claims, and makes you think that you have to SHARE IT WITH EVERYONE NOW or you are personally and morally a bad person. Unfortunately, the world is complicated, issues and responses are complicated, and anyone insisting that there is Only One Solution and it's conveniently the one they're peddling should not be trusted. We used to laugh at parents and grandparents for naively forwarding or responding to obviously scam emails, but now young people are doing the exact same thing by blasting people with completely sourceless social media tweets, clips, and other manipulative BS that is intended to appeal to an emotional gut rather than an intellectual response. When you panic or feel negative emotions (anger, fear, grief, etc) you're more likely to act on something or share questionable information without thinking.

Likewise, you do have basic Internet literacy tools at your disposal. You can just throw a few keywords into Google or Wikipedia and see what comes up. Is any major news organization reporting on this? Is it obviously verifiable as a fake (see the disaster pictures of sharks swimming on highways that get shared after every hurricane)? Can you right-click, perform a reverse image search, and see if this is, for example, a picture from an unrelated war ten years ago instead of an up-to-date image of the current conflict? Especially with the ongoing Israel/Palestine imbroglio, we have people sharing propaganda (particularly Hamas propaganda) BY THE BUCKETLOAD and masquerading it as legitimate news organizations (tip: Quds News Network is literally the Hamas channel). This includes other scuzzy dirtbag-left websites like Grayzone and The Intercept, which often have implicit or explicit links to Russian-funded disinformation campaigns and other demoralizing or disrupting fake news that is deliberately designed to turn young left-leaning Westerners against the Democrats and other liberal political parties, which enables the electoral victory of the fascist far-right and feeds Putin's geopolitical and military aims. Likewise, half of our problems would be solved if tankies weren't so eager to gulp down and propagate anything "anti-Western" and thus amplify the Russian disinformation machine in a way even the Russians themselves sometimes struggle to do, but yeah. That relates to both Russia/Ukraine and Israel/Palestine.

Basically: TikTok, Twitter/X, Tumblr itself, and other platforms are absolutely RIFE with misinformation, and this is due partly to ownership (the Chinese government and Elon Fucking Musk have literally no goddamn reason whatsoever to build an unbiased algorithm, and have been repeatedly proven to be boosting bullshit that supports their particular worldviews) and partly due to the way in which the young Western left has paralyzed itself into hypocritical moral absolutes and pseudo-revolutionary ideology (which is only against the West itself and doesn't think that the rest of the world has agency to act or think for itself outside the West's influence, They Are Very Smart and Anti-Colonialist!) A lot of "information" in left-leaning social media spaces is therefore tainted by this perspective and often relies on flat-out, brazen, easily disprovable lies (like the popular Twitter account insisting that Biden could literally just overturn the Supreme Court if he really wanted to). Not all misinformation is that easy to spot, but with a severe lack of political, historical, civic, or social education (since it's become so polarized and school districts generally steer away from it or teach the watered-down version for fear of being attacked by Moms for Liberty or similar), it is quickly and easily passed along by people wanting trite and simplistic solutions for complex problems or who think the extent of social justice is posting the Right Opinions on social media.

As I said above, everything in the world is complicated and has multiple factors, different influences, possible solutions, involved actors, and external and internal causes. For the most part, if you're encountering anything that insists there's only one shiningly righteous answer (which conveniently is the one All Good and Moral People support!) and the other side is utterly and even demonically in the wrong, that is something that immediately needs a closer look and healthy skepticism. How was this situation created? Who has an interest in either maintaining the status quo, discouraging any change, or insisting that there's only one way to engage with/think about this issue? Who is being harmed and who is being helped by this rhetoric, including and especially when you yourself are encouraged to immediately spread it without criticism or cross-checking? Does it rely on obvious lies, ideological misinformation, or something designed to make you feel the aforementioned negative emotions? Is it independently corroborated? Where is it sourced from? When you put the author's name into Google, what comes up?

Also, I think it's important to add that as a result, it's simply not possible to distill complicated information into a few bite-sized and easily digestible social media chunks. If something is difficult to understand, that means you probably need to spend more time reading about it and encountering diverse perspectives, and that is research and work that has to take place primarily not on social media. You can ask for help and resources (such as you're doing right now, which I think is great!), but you can't use it as your chief or only source of information. You can and should obviously be aware of the limitations and biases of traditional media, but often that has turned into the conspiracy-theory "they never report on what's REALLY GOING ON, the only information you can trust is random anonymous social media accounts managed by God knows who." Traditional media, for better or worse, does have certain evidentiary standards, photographing, sourcing, and verifying requirements, and other ways to confirm that what they're writing about actually has some correspondence with reality. Yes, you need to be skeptical, but you can also trust that some of the initial legwork of verification has been done for you, and you can then move to more nuanced review, such as wording, presentation of perspective, who they're interviewing, any journalistic assumptions, any organizational shortcomings, etc.

Once again: there is a shit-ton of stuff out there, it is hard to instinctively know or understand how to engage with it, and it's okay if you don't automatically "get" everything you read. That's where the principle of actually taking the time to be informed comes in, and why you have to firmly divorce yourself from the notion that being socially aware or informed means just instantly posting or sharing on social media about the crisis of the week, especially if you didn't know anything about it beforehand and are just relying on the Leftist Groupthink to tell you how you should be reacting. Because things are complicated and dangerous, they take more effort to unpick than just instantly sharing a meme or random Twitter video or whatever. If you do in fact want to talk about these things constructively, and not just because you feel like you're peer-pressured into doing so and performing the Correct Opinions, then you will in fact need to spend non-social-media time and effort in learning about them.

If you're at a university, there are often subject catalogues, reference librarians, and other built-in tools that are there for you to use and which you SHOULD use (that's your tuition money, after all). That can help you identify trustworthy information sources and research best practices, and as you do that more often, it will help you have more of a feel for things when you encounter them in the wild. It's not easy at first, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes more so, and will make you more confident in your own judgments, beliefs, and values. That way when you encounter something that you KNOW is wrong, you won't be automatically pressured to share it just to fit in, because you will be able to tell yourself what the problems are.

Good luck!

#coffeeandcoyotes #ask #school stuff #critical thinking

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thankskenpenders · 8 months

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And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

#tkp post

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buckychristwrites · 1 year

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About You | Day 1 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: I know I just posted the Prologue but here's the first chapter! All of this plus chapter two are posted on my Ao3 :) enjoy!

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

The Nelson Road Stadium was bigger than you had imagined it, though you had never seen it in person before. Walking through the door, you timidly showed security your press pass before asking where you would be able to find either Keely Jones or anyone in charge. The security guard was less than helpful, just pointing haphazardly to the left. Instead of pressing further, you just decided to walk. Eventually, you’d have to run into someone who knew something, right?

Your eyes jumped from wall to wall, taking in the pictures and memorabilia that filled them. Pulling out your phone from your pocket, you opened your camera and snapped a picture. Either for the article or just for bragging rights, it could be useful in the future.

“Hiya,” An uneasy voice said from behind you. Startled, you whirled around to find a vaguely familiar face staring at you, a tiny woman with light hair, big eyes and eyebrows knitted together. “Are you waiting for someone?” It took a second for you to process what she was asking you. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to bring your heart rate down, you shook your head.

“I’m looking for Keeley Jones, or anyone who could be in charge here, really,” You explained before introducing yourself. “I’m from The Independent, and I’m doing the piece on Tartt.” Saying his name and the whole sentence out loud felt like a betrayal to yourself, but you tried to hide your distaste from your demeanor. The woman’s face lit up.

“Perfect timing then,” She said brightly. “I’m Keeley Jones.” Relief filled you. The idea of navigating this place on your own had been very stressful.

“Thank goodness,” You huffed. A part of you had been worried that everyone would be as lackadaisical as the security guard before.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” She said as she began to lead you down the hallway. “I think it’s going to be a wonderful opportunity for Richmond, and for Jamie.” Your face contorted slightly at the sound of his name, and you were thankful you were walking behind her so she couldn’t see it. When you didn’t respond, she glanced back at you. “I really think that once you get to know him, you’ll change your mind.”

Ahhh, so she had read your work.

“My articles about him were never meant to be personal,” You said while trying not to sound defensive. Wanting to elaborate further, you searched your brain for any semblance of an explanation, but turned up empty. She nodded in a surprisingly understanding way.

“You weren’t wrong by any stretch,” She admitted, giving you an earnest look. “He’s a piece of work. But he has changed, I promise you.”

You said nothing. What was there to say? Every person in this club all views Tartt as family. Of course they would be quick to defend him, especially against someone who was very publicly critical of him.

Not that he needed the defense, of course. Whenever an article of yours about him hit the socials, he was quick to respond on Twitter, and it always led to a very public spat between the two of you. Another reason on the list as to why the public loved the feud you had with a man who you had never met in person.

Keeley led you up a set of stairs and outside a closed door. She gave you a quick smile before tapping her knuckles against it.

“Just wanna let Rebecca know you’re here before letting you meet the team,” She whispered as a voice called from the other side, Come in!

The door swung open and the two of you entered. Your presence was swiftly forgotten as the two of them squealed and embraced. Crossing your arms over your chest, you glanced around the office and pretended to not be eavesdropping on their mini conversation.

“What are you doing here?” Rebecca asked excitedly.

“I set up a profile on Jamie for The Independent! I wanted to be here when the journalist showed up,” She explained, before turning back to you. When Rebecca did the same, she seemed to be studying you. She was taller than you had imagined her to be, wearing a pencil skirt and a sleeveless top. You felt nervous just being in her presence.

As Keeley introduced the two of you, the platinum blonde’s face seemed to firm at the sound of your name, making you nauseated. The warmth returned to her face just as quickly as it went.

“Pleasure to have you,” She said as she held out a hand. Whether her tone was sincere or not, it was hard to say. Swallowing the anxiety, you took it.

“How long are you coming ‘round for?” Keeley asked. You looked up at the ceiling in thought.

“A week or two, depending.”

“Depending on… what exactly?” Rebecca asked, her grin faltering ever so slightly. The question itself made you want to turn around and run home. You had met a lot of powerful people in your career, but there was something about the way Rebecca held herself that made you more intimidated than you had ever felt before.

“Just depending on how things are going and if I feel like I need more time,” You explained quickly. “I will be at the next two matches.” Keeley broke out into a wide smile.

“That’ll be fun! You can sit in the box with us!” Keeley exclaimed. She tried to be subtle, but you didn’t miss the squeeze Rebecca gave Keeley’s arm at this comment, all while keeping a cool, collected face. You could almost feel the spike in your blood pressure.

“Shall I meet the team?” You asked, averting Rebecca’s eyes while desperately trying to appear as if you didn’t want to cry.

“Yes! Of course!” Keeley exclaimed. She quickly turned and gave Rebecca a kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door, a slight bounce in her step. “I’ll be back for lunch, Becs!”

“Do let me know if you need anything!” Rebecca called to your receding back. In lieu of a proper response, you gave her a quick smile before closing the door behind you.

The tension in your body seemed to go away, but you knew it was only temporary.

Keeley gave you the grand tour of the building. Every bathroom, office, or cleaner’s closet, she knew where it was and she made sure to show you. It hadn’t occurred to you just how big the stadium was on the inside, and it made you all the more grateful for her guidance.

The changing room was empty when she opened the door and let you venture in. Something about that was relieving to you. You walked along the benches, reading every name over each locker. When you got to Tartt’s name and number, you felt your heart drop into your abdomen. Something about reading his name on the wall and seeing the contents of his locker made this whole thing become suddenly real. And while you stood behind every word you’ve ever written about him, you felt incredibly anxious over how the next week (or two) would go.

“Where is everyone?” You asked Keeley while trying to pull my eyes away from the placard.

“Training,” She answered. “We’ll go out in a second.” You nodded, turning to find her beaming at you. Raising a hand, she pointed at one of the doors. “That’s the coach’s office.” You glanced at the closed door, seeing the desks through the window. “And that is the boot room.” You turned your head once more to find her other hand pointed at the room across the way. She took a step towards you, lowering her voice. “Careful going in there. It’s used for more than just dirty boots and washing the kits.”

You raised an eyebrow at her.

“It’s a sanctuary, so to speak,” She elaborated. “Serious conversations. Therapy sessions. Maybe even a shag, who knows?” Your shock must’ve crossed your face, because she instantly laughed. “I would never, but you can’t be sure.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Also Will the kit boy is always in here. It's practically his office.. Seems to hear everything, that one. So be careful of that as well.” Before you had any chance to give a response, she turned and began to move, prompting you to follow.

She led you to the tunnel, and you could feel the anxiety pouring out of you. As you made your way into the sunlight, you squinted as everything slowly came into focus.

If you thought the stadium itself was bigger in person, you weren’t prepared for the field itself. The green was so brilliant when it wasn’t on the other side of a television screen. The seats appeared as if they had just gotten a fresh coat of paint. As Keeley led you towards the coaches, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking around. In the distance, you could see the players running around the field as they practiced plays for the next game. When your eyes caught a flash of the number 9, you turned your gaze to Keeley’s shoes in front of you, wanting to crawl out of your skin.

“G’ morning, gentlemen!” She called as the two of you approached the coaches. A chorus of greetings rang out as Keeley approached the tallest man with black hair and mean eyebrows, who you could only assume was the famous Roy Kent, and gave him a sweet kiss. As soon as she pulled away, his eyes fell on you.

“Who’s this?”

She introduced you, and not unlike Rebecca, the second your name left her mouth, the three of them visibly tensed. It went as quickly as it came, although the tension within yourself was only starting to build. If Keeley had noticed the change in the air, she didn’t voice it.

“This is Roy Kent, Nate Shelley, and Coach Beard,” Keeley introduced. You went around to each of them to shake their hands while she continued on. “She’s here to do the piece on Jamie.” You were already taking a step away from them when all their eyes widened.

“They- they’re having you do the profile?” Nate asked in a soft, unsure voice. Holding back a sigh, you nodded.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?” Roy Kent asked, his eyes still on Keeley. Her face fell slightly at his reaction, and it was then that it occurred to you that these reactions were just as hurtful to her, who set the profile, as it was to you.

“Don’t be rude, babe,” She said, shaking her head. “This will be good for both of them.” Coach Beard cleared his throat.

“Only if she-” He nodded his head at you. “-can remain unbiased.” All four sets of eyes fell on you, and you could feel the blood rising in your cheeks.

“I’m always unbiased,” You said, unable to hide the defensiveness this time. Beard scoffed.

“Okay.”

Just barely shaking your head, you wanted to walk out right then and there. This whole thing already felt like you were walking around with your tail between your legs, but coming for your journalistic integrity was something you weren’t going to take lightly.

“I’m going to write the truth,” You said simply. “And the truth will be whatever Jamie gives me.”

Despite what the reader’s would want, you thought to yourself, which would be the continuation of the war between the two of you.

As if on cue, Roy Kent turned towards the players in the field.

“WHISTLE!”

The yell made you jump, but everyone else seemed to be accustomed to it, the players immediately pausing the play and running over. A few confused looks were thrown in your direction, but you took the time to take your notepad out of your pocket to take some notes as the coaches addressed the team.

Roy Kent yells “whistle” instead of using one. Beautiful weather for practice. Team really responds well to-

“‘Scuse me, Coach?” A familiar Mancunian accent called out. Your pencil froze instantly, but not before a line went across the paper in surprise.

“Yeah, Jamie,” Coach Beard said patiently. Out of your peripheral vision, you saw him point a finger at you.

“Who’s that?”

All eyes fell on you. Despite the warm, late spring heat, your blood ran cold. Keeley, who was now tucked into Roy’s side, cleared her throat before announcing your name. Your eyes fell on every players’ face, watching as their expressions changed from confusion to downright disdain. A few heads turned in the direction of Jamie, who’s jaw had tensed.

“She’s here to do a piece on Jamie,” Keeley continued, and you had to give her credit for being completely unfazed by the change in mood. “She’ll be here for a week or two, and will be at both of the next matches.”

Unsure of what else to do, you raised a hand in greeting, trying to muster up a smile. Surprisingly, there were a few muttered greetings, although the overall impression you had was not pleasant.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?”

All eyes turned to Jamie, who had been quiet until this point. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring in disbelief at Keeley and the coaches. Roy raised and dropped his shoulders in response, having said the exact same thing just moments before. Keeley’s head fell slightly to the side.

“Come on, Jamie,” She said, pleadingly. “This’ll be good for you! It’s a chance to show everyone how much you’ve changed!”

He wasn’t hearing her, however, as he shook his head before storming off back towards the changing room. When he disappeared down the tunnel, all eyes fell on you once more. Keeley broke from Roy to follow Jamie, but you stopped her.

“I should probably handle this,” You said to her quietly. She looked unsure, but still nodded. Taking a deep breath, you turned and made your way back towards the changing room. The coaches didn’t miss a beat as Roy Kent’s voice could be heard echoing throughout the field.

“Get moving! Fifty laps, let’s go!”

Just before you passed the threshold of the tunnel, all of the team made their way past you, and not a single one went by without giving you either an intense glare or curious stare.

As you made your way into the changing room, you were greeted by something hitting against the wall loudly. Across the room from you was Jamie, and across from him was the laundry bin, which was now tipped onto its side and well away from the spot you had seen it in before. He was wearing a black sports shirt with dark blue sleeves and the word Bantr sported across his torso. His black Nike shorts went above mid thigh, and hugged his muscular thighs just perfectly. When he looked up to find you, he immediately turned away.

“I don’t want to fuckin’ talk to ya, just piss off,” He said, voice laced with venom. Despite his tone, you took a few steps forward.

“I didn’t want to do this either, you know,” You told him. “It’s all for publicity. You have to understand that.” He laughed.

“Wasn’t publicity when you wrote that bullshit about me,” He threw back. “‘If Jamie Tartt behaved in public the way he played on the field, a lot of journalists would be out of a job, including meself.’” There was something surreal about your words being used against you in this moment, but he kept going. “‘This stint on Love Conquers All just proves that some of us should stick to what we know, although for Jamie Tartt, that narrows down to football and being a twat, so maybe he was just trying to explore his options.’” Despite his anger, you had to bite the inside of your cheek.

“So you’re a fan.”

“Hilarious.”

“You have my work memorized,” You pointed out in a vain attempt to break the strain. “Sounds like fan behavior to me.” He shook his head, not amused.

“A proper comedian, you are.” You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I won’t apologize for what I wrote,” You said bluntly. “Just like I don’t expect you to apologize for anything. But I have to be here. And I’m not here to make you look bad. I’m just here to write what I see.”

Though his jaw was still tense, he seemed to consider this as he stared at the ground.

“Is that what you’ve always done?” He asked, his head still turned towards the floor with his eyes jumping towards you. “Wrote what you saw?” You nodded slowly. His gaze dropped to the floor again, his hand running through his long hair, which was falling on either side of his forehead. “So all you saw me as was a fuckin’ twat?”

The easy answer was yes, but it didn’t feel so easy when you were being asked the question now.

“It’s easy to see things in a person when you don't really know them,” You admitted quietly. “That’s probably why a lot of journalists aren’t very popular.” He nodded, seeming to agree with you. “But maybe you could take this as a chance to prove me wrong.” Suddenly, he raised his head so he was staring straight ahead, still not at you. “Everyone who I’ve met since getting here has shown in one way or another that they don’t approve of what I said. You’ve shown many people that there’s more to you than a cocky arsehole.” Confidently, you took a step forward, and you were pleased when he didn’t react to it.

“So show me too.” This is what made him finally turn his head towards you. You nodded at him. “And I’ll show everyone else.”

A nod from Jamie was all you got before he turned on his heel and walked back out to the pitch. Something in you felt relieved over this chat. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought it would.

For the rest of practice, you sat in the stands, taking notes, watching and listening. For the most part, it seemed that your presence had been forgotten, although there was the occasional glance from one of the players or coaches. Keeley had long gone back to work, leaving you in the trenches.

Afternoon quickly fell into evening. When the players were released to go to the showers, you rose and began to collect your things. A slight whistle came from behind you, and when you turned, you were unexpectedly greeted by Coach Beard. Slowly rising to stand straight, you waited. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to say.

“I don’t have kids,” He started, causing your eyebrows to knit together. “But these players are my sons.” Your face relaxed again, understanding hitting you. He gestured towards the players who were still filling into the tunnel. “Those are my boys. When you come for one of my boys, you come for all of us.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised his hand to stop you. “I won’t fault you for what is in the past. I understand you have a job to do, and no one will stop you from doing it. But he’s not the same.” As he said it, he turned in time to see the number 9 disappear into the tunnel. “He’s not the guy you wrote about before.” He turned back to you, a tender smile on his face. “Give him a chance.”

You weren’t sure if a response beyond a nod was needed, so that was all you gave. He nodded back, as if some unspoken agreement had been come to, and followed after the men. You threw your bag over your shoulder and made your way out.

When you got to your car, the car park had largely emptied out. As you threw your bag into your passenger side door, you noticed the car a few spaces away from you was occupied. Jamie Tartt continued to sit in his idling vehicle, staring at the wheel. When you climbed into the driver’s side, you looked over to find that he was already returning your gaze.

You hesitantly lifted your hand and gave him a wave. He waved back with an over-enthused smile, before raising the middle finger at you and quickly pulling out of the spot, tires screeching behind him.

Your hand dropped back to your lap in defeat.

This was going to be the longest week of your life.

And there was no way you were staying for two.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso fanfiction

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ponett · 30 days

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wait, you could have gotten a follow up with Ken himself? did that go very far or were you not interested? i getta imagine even if you dont like his work, asking the man himself about his days on the comic would be illuminating.

I could have. Part of me was definitely curious, since there's so much we don't know about what was going on behind the scenes at Archie and Ken's one of the few people still interested in talking about it. But it's also like... I dunno, I just like to keep some distance between me as a critic and him as a creator. I can talk about his work, I can talk about things he's said publicly about his work, but I don't need to drag him directly into it. It's the same reason why I've never interacted with him directly on Twitter, even though people loooooooove to get into arguments with him about Sonic shit. As critical as I've been of both him and his work, I have zero desire to grill him in person.

Were I to interview him, there are basically two paths I see here:

Option A: I do a totally cordial softball interview, magically putting aside my well-established opinions on the guy from my decade spent running TKP, and use it as an opportunity to get some more insight into the creation of the comics from him. And then what? I go right back to poking fun at him on my Tumblr blog that has his name in the URL? I'm pretty soft on the guy these days compared to all the Sonic fans out there who think he's The Literal Devil, but still, there's no way for this to not feel like entrapment to me. Like I'm just playing nice so he can give me ammo for when I turn around and continue poking fun at his work and his occasional legal threat. And even if I never use anything he says in that interview against him, since I finished covering his Archie Sonic run for the blog years ago rarely have any reason to even bring him up, my audience will sure as hell comb through every word he says to find more coal for the hate train.

Option B: I'm more critical of him to his face, in which case I'm basically just bullying a kinda pathetic old man, who's already alienated most of his peers and committed career suicide, for writing some children's comics I didn't like 20-30 years ago. There is not a single iota of me that wants to turn into Ken's equivalent of that asshole who paid to be a guest on the BumbleKast just to ask Ian Flynn a bunch of questions that boiled down to "hey so this story you wrote sucked, why'd you write it that way?"

It just doesn't feel right to me no matter how you slice it. Ken's not some monstrous public figure who needs to get held accountable for his actions in an interview or something. At the end of the day, it's just comics. It's not that serious. He can continue making his weird little Lara-Su Chronicles comics and putting his foot in his mouth of his own accord, and I can continue being like "lol remember when Knuckles got called a 'proud man-child' at his own funeral" as a side thing to my own creative career, and never the twain shall meet

#dustybins #ask

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months

Text

Brinklump Linkdump

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

Life comes at you fast, links come at you faster. Once again, I've arrived at Saturday with a giant backlog of links I didn't fit in this week, so it's time for a linkdump, the 14th in the series:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

It's the Year of Our Gourd twenty and twenty-four and holy shit, is rampant corporate power rampant. On January 1, the inbred droolers of Big Pharma shat out their annual price increases, as cataloged in 46Brooklyn's latest Brand Drug List Price Change Box Score:

https://www.46brooklyn.com/branddrug-boxscore

Here's the deal: drugs that have already been developed, brought to market, and paid off are now getting more expensive. Why? Because the pharma companies have "pricing power," the most reliable indicator of monopoly. Ed Cara rounds up the highlights for Gizmodo:

https://gizmodo.com/ozempic-wegovy-wellbutrin-oxycontin-drug-price-increase-1851179427

What's going up? Well, Ozempic and other GLP-1 agonists. These drugs have made untold billions for their manufacturers, so naturally, they're raising the price. That's how markets work, right? When firms increase the volume of a product, the price goes up? Right? Other drugs that are going up include Wellbutrin (an antidepressant that's also widely used in smoking cessation) and the blood thinner Plavix. I mean, why the hell not? These companies get billions in research subsidies, invaluable government patent privileges, and near-total freedom to abuse the patent system with evergreening:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/23/everorangeing/#taste-the-rainbow

The most amazing things about monopolies is how the contempt just oozes out of them. It's like these guys can't even pretend to give a shit. You want guillotines? Because that's how you get guillotines.

Take Apple. They just got their asses handed to them in court by Epic, who successfully argued that Apple's rule requiring everyone who sells through the App Store to use Apple's payment processor and pay Apple 30% out of every dollar they bring in was an antitrust violation. Epic won, then won the appeal, then SCOTUS told Apple they wouldn't hear the case, so that's that.

Right? Wrong. Apple's pulled a malicious compliance stunt that could shame the surly drunks my great-aunt Lisa used to boss in the Soviet electrical engineering firm she ran. Apple has announced that app companies that process transactions using their own payment processors on the web must still pay Apple a 27% fee for every dollar their process:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/apples-app-store-rule-changes-draw-sharp-rebuke-from-critics-150047160.html

In addition, Apple will throw a terrifying FUD-screen up every time a user clicks a payment link that goes to the web:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/second-verse-same-as-the-first/

This is obviously not what the court had in mind, and there's no way this will survive the next court challenge. It's just Apple making sure that everyone knows it hates us all and wants us to die. Thanks, Tim Apple, and right back atcha.

Not to be outdone in the monopolistic mustache-twirling department, Ubisoft just announced that it is going to shut down its driving simulator game The Crew, which it sold to users with a "perpetual license":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIqyvquTEVU

This is some real Darth Vader MBA shit. "Yeah, we sold you a 'perpetual license' to this game, but we're terminating it. I have altered the deal. Pray I don't alter it further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Ubisoft sure are innovators. They've managed the seemingly impossible feat of hybridizing Darth Vader and Immortan Joe. Ubisoft's head of subscriptions, the guillotine-ready Philippe Tremblay, told GamesIndustry.biz that gamers need to get "comfortable" with "not owning their games":

https://www.gamesindustry.biz/the-new-ubisoft-and-getting-gamers-comfortable-with-not-owning-their-games

Or, as Immortan Joe put it: "Do not, my friends, become addicted to water. It will take hold of you, and you will resent its absence!"

Capitalism without constraint is enshittification's handmaiden, and the latest victim is Ello, the "indie" social media startup that literally promised – on the sacred honor of its founders – that it would never sell out its users. When Ello took VC and Andy Baio questioned how this could be squared with this promise, the founders mocked him and others for raising the question. Their response boiled down to "we are super-chill dudes and you can totally trust us."

They raised more capital, and used that to create a nice place for independent artists, who piled into the platform and provided millions of unpaid hours of creative labor to help the founders increase its value. The founders and their investors turned the company into a Public Benefit Corporation, which meant they had an obligation to serve the public benefit.

But then they took more investment money and simply (and silently) sold their assets to a for-profit. Struggling to raise capital, the founders opted to secretly sell the business to a sleazy branding company called Talenthouse. Its users didn't know about the change, though the site sure had a lot of Talenthouse design competitions all of a sudden.

Finally, the company announced the change as the last founders left. Rather than announcing that the new owners were untrustworthy scum, warning their users to get their data and get out, the founders posted oblique, ominous statements to Instagram. The company started stiffing the winners of those design competitions. Then, one day, poof, Ello disappeared, taking all its users' data with it. Poof:

https://waxy.org/2024/01/the-quiet-death-of-ellos-big-dreams/

I'm sure the founders' decisions each seemed reasonable at the moment. That's every terrible situation arises: you rationalize that a single compromise isn't that big of a deal, and then you do the same for the next compromise, and the next, and the next. Pretty soon, you're betraying everyone who believed in you.

One answer to this is "Ulysses pacts": making binding commitments to do right before you are tempted. Throw away all your Oreos when you go on a diet and you can't be tempted to eat a whole sleeve of them at 2AM. License your software under the GPL and your investors can't force you to make it proprietary. Set up a warrant canary and the feds can't force you to keep their spying secret:

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

If the founders were determined to build a trustworthy, open, independent company, they could have published their quarterly books, livestreamed their staff meetings, built data-export tools that emailed users every week with a link to download everything they'd posted since the last week. Merely halting any of these practices would have been a signal that things were wrong. Anyone who says they won't be tempted in the moment to make a "reasonable" compromise in the hopes of recovering whatever they're trading away by living to fight another day is bullshitting you, and possibly themself.

The inability to project the consequences of your bad decisions in the future is the source of endless mischief and heartbreak. Take movie projectors. A couple decades ago, the studio cartel established a standard for digital movie distribution to cinematic exhibitors called the Digital Cinema Initiative. Because studio executives are more worried about stopping piracy than they are about making sure that people who pay for movies get to see them, they build digital rights management into this standard.

Movie theaters had to spend fortunes to upgrade to "secure" projectors. A single vendor, Deluxe Technicolor, monopolized the packaging of movies into "Digital Cinema Prints" for distribution to these projectors, and they used all kinds of dirty tricks to force distributors to use their services, like arbitrarily flunking third-party DCPs over picky shit like not starting and ending on a black frame.

Over time, the ability to use unencrypted files was stripped away, meaning every DCP needed to be encrypted, and every projector needed to have up-to-date decryption keys. This system broke down on Jan 1, 2024, and cinemas all over the world found they couldn't play Wonka. Many just shut down for the day and refunded their customers:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/1/24021915/alamo-drafthouse-outage-sony-projector

The problem? Something that every PKI system has to wrangle: an expired certificate from Deluxe Technicolor. The failure has been dubbed the Y2K24 debacle by projectionists and film-techs, who are furious:

http://www.film-tech.com/vbb/forum/main-forum/34652-the-y2k24-bug-major-digital-outage-today

Making everything worse is that Sony mothballed the division that maintains its projectors, so there's no one who can update them to accommodate Technicolor's workaround. Struggling mom-and-pop theaters are having to junk their systems and replace them. There's plenty of blame to go around, but Sony is definitely the most negligent link in the chain. Shame on them.

Big corporations LARP this performance of competence and seriousness, but they are deeply unserious. This week, I wrote, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Score one for team deeply unserious. The multinational delivery company DPD fired its support staff and replaced them with a chatbot. The chatbot can't tell you where your parcels are, but it can be prompt-injected into coming up with profane poems about how badly DPD sucks:

https://twitter.com/ashbeauchamp/status/1748034519104450874

There once was a chatbot named DPD, Who was useless at providing help. It could not track parcels, Or give information on delivery dates, And it could not even tell you when your driver would arrive.

DPD was a waste of time, And a customer's worst nightmare. It was so bad, That people would rather call the depot directly, Than deal with the useless chatbot.

One day, DPD was finally shut down, And everyone rejoiced. Finally, they could get the help they needed, From a real person who knew what they were doing.

This is…the opposite of an AI hallucination? It's AI clarity.

As with all botshit, this kind of AI self-negging is funny and fresh the first time you see it, but just wait until 3,000 people have published their own versions to your social feed. AI novelty regresses to the mean damn quickly.

The old, good web, by contrast, was full of enduring surprises, as the world's weirdest and most delightful mutants filled the early web with every possible variation on every possible interest, expression, argument, and gag. Now, you can search the old, good web with Old'aVista, an Altavista lookalike that searches old pages from "personal websites that used to be hosted on services like Geocities, Angelfire, AOL, Xoom and so on," all ganked from the Internet Archive:

http://oldavista.com/

I miss the old, good internet and the way it let weirdos find each other and get seriously weird with one another. Think of steampunk, a subculture that wove together artists, makers, costumers, fiction writers, and tinkerers in endlessly creative ways. My old pal Roger Wood was the world's most improbable steampunk: he was a gay ex-navy gunner who grew up in a small town in the maritimes but moved to Toronto where he became the world's most accomplished steampunk clockmaker.

I was Roger's neighbour for a decade. He died last year, and I miss him all the time. I was in Toronto in December and saw a few of his last pieces being sold in galleries and I was just skewered on the knowledge that I'd never see him again, never visit his workshop:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/16/klockwerks/#craphound

A reader just sent this five-year-old mini documentary about Roger, shot in his wonderful workshop. Watching it made me happy and sad and then happy again:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqMGomM8yF8

The old, good internet was so great. It was a place where every kind of passion could live. It was a real testament to the power of geeking out together, no matter how often the suits demand that we "stop talking to each other and start buying things":

https://catvalente.substack.com/p/stop-talking-to-each-other-and-start

The world is full of people with weird passions and I love them all, mostly. Learning about Don Bolles's collection of decades' worth of lost pet posters was a moment of pure joy (I just wish more of it was online):

https://ameliatait.substack.com/p/the-man-who-collects-lost-pet-posters

That's the future I was promised: one where every kind of freak can find every other kind of freak. Despite the nipple-deep botshit we wade through online, and the relentless cheapening of words like "innovation" and "future," there are still occasional gleams of the future I want to live in.

Like the researchers who spliced a photosynthesis gene into brewer's yeast (a fungus) and got it to photosynthesize, and to display enhanced fitness:

https://www.cell.com/current-biology/fulltext/S0960-9822(23)01744-X

As Doug Muir writes on Crooked Timber, this is pretty kooky! Fungi – the coolest of the kingdoms! – can't photosynthesize. The idea that you can just add the photosynthesis gene to a thing that can't photosynthesize and have it just kind of work is wild!

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/01/19/occasional-paper-purple-sun-yeast/

As Muir writes: "Animals have no evolutionary history of photosynthesis and aren’t designed for it, but the same is true for yeast. So… no reason this shouldn’t be possible. A photosynthesizing cat? Sure, why not."

Why not indeed?!

OK, that's this week's linkdump done and dusted. It only remains for me to share the news with you that the trolley problem has been finally and comprehensively solved, by [email protected], of the IWW IU 520 (railroad workers):

Slip the switch by flipping it while the trolley's front wheels have passed through, but before the back wheels do. This will cause a controlled derailment bringing the trolley to a safe halt.

https://kolektiva.social/@sidereal/111779015415697244

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/20/melange/#i-have-heard-the-mermaids-singing

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sleepiexx · 1 year

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Without you, I’m hopeless.

Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Note: Living and breathing re4make Leon rn. No spoilers, I’ve like one chapter of the game left!! Anyways, side note, this is a side blog so unfortunately I can’t respond to any comments from this blog but I definitely will with my main, @sleepiemain .

Summary: Leon comes home from a mission in a piss poor mood, desperately needing a boost.

Warnings: kinda angsty, mostly just leon missing his gf, happy ending tho

Word count: 1334

Leon visibly sunk when he got home. He didn’t know what he expected when he unlocked his door but it didn’t hit him until he was inside, breathing in the stale, dust-filled air just how much he’d hoped it wouldn’t be like this. His posture was down-trodden as he tossed his duffel bag to the floor, just another chore he’d have to do tomorrow on top of the ever growing stack of paperwork.

His muscles were sore with the lasting injuries of the mission and Leon was bone tired but worst of all, loneliness ate at him. He knew, of course, that he could call (Y/N) and she would come running over, but it was late and he’d be damned if he made her sleep schedule as bad as his own. It had been a long few weeks without her, in which he’d spent almost every night wishing he was home, pressed up against her in bed whispering of how they each loved each other so much. The ache of desolation weighed on his heart and mind; god, he needed to ask her to move in. Their precious time together was already limited, so why waste any more of it by sleeping apart?

He passed the kitchen, choosing to forego any late night snacks in favor of extra sleep. He figured he would just take (Y/N) out for a large breakfast in the morning, assuming she was available. He desperately hoped she was, he missed her so badly. If he could give his heart to her for safe keeping, he would do it without question, if only so that they would never be separated.

He trudged all the way to his bedroom, a longing for (Y/N) weighing him down the entire way. At least while actively on a mission, the constant stimulation of fighting and critical thinking kept him distracted from his impending heart ache, but here, in his own home with nothing but himself and his own thoughts, he was left vulnerable to it.

He told himself that he would sleep away the sadness. What he was dealing with was nothing that a little melatonin and a date with (Y/N) in the morning couldn’t fix. Yet when he opened his bedroom door, it seemed that sleeping away his pain wouldn’t be necessary. The corner of his lips curled into an elated grin at the sight.

Unlike the rest of his house, his bedroom had changed slightly since he left. While dust still caked the dresser and nightstands, a clear sign that they hadn’t been used since he left, a certain love of Leon’s life was curled up in his bed, wrapped in his sheets with her nose nuzzled into one of his many pillows.

The pressure on Leon’s chest was all at once alleviated. The sight of his lover longing for him just as much as he’d been longing for her brought tears to his eyes. He was so relieved that he wouldn’t have to go any longer without her, even if it was only just one more night. He nearly jumped right into bed but stopped at the thought of disturbing her. Slowly, he unlaced and took off his boots, something he’d been too tired to do at the front door. Moving to the master bathroom, he switched out his work clothes in favor of a soft tee shirt and boxers, materials that would be significantly less irritating when rubbing up against (Y/N)’s skin.

When he was fully ready, he slid into bed behind (Y/N). He wrapped his strong arms around her midsection, ever so careful not to wake her. He nuzzled his nose onto the top of her head and closed his eyes, breathing in the calming scent of her shampoo. It sent chills down his spine. He could hardly believe she was real, and that she was here with him, not just one of many figments of his imagination he had made up to help him sleep before another long day of ‘government work.’

As his nerves finally settled down, willing him to sleep, he felt her stir. It seemed she had just woken up, mind still fuzzy and brain functions working slightly less than usual. All she knew was that she went to bed alone yet now there was something holding her that hadn’t been before. Panic set in. She thrashed in fear, barely letting out a squeak when Leon held her in a tight grip, whispering right next to the shell of her ear, “Hey, hey, it’s just me. I’ve got you.”

The thrashing ceased, she turned her body around in his arms so that she was facing him. She was too tired to muster up a smile when she saw his beautiful face but she was able to squeeze him back just as tight with watery eyes.

“Leon… I missed you.”

“I can tell,” he smirked, referencing her current situation of being caught in his bed.

Blood rushed to her face, eyes looking down to meet anything but Leon, “I’m sorry l didn’t tell you I was staying the night. I just- I had a really hard day today and you usually don’t answer the phone when you’re at work, which I completely understand and respect, but I just really missed you so I used the spare key you gave me so I could lay in your bed and it just smelled so much like you that I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and leave and I guess at some point I fell asleep. I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.”

Leon drew circles onto her sides in attempts to sooth her from her anxious little rant, “I’m not mad sweetheart, ‘m actually very grateful to see you here. Missed you so much when I was gone, couldn’t bare another second without you.”

Her eyes flitted up to meet his own but almost instantly shot back down, “You’re just saying that.”

“No I’m not, I mean it.” He cupped her face in one of his hands and pulled it up so she would look at him, “This is the exact reason I gave you a spare key to my place.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead but she was unsatisfied with just that and pulled him down so his lips met her own. Letting her actions take over where words failed.

When they broke the kiss, they settled down once more, exhaustion becoming more apparent and taking hold. They cuddled up together, Leon on his back, and (Y/N) tucked into his side. Before Leon would let himself fall asleep, a pressing matter popped into his head, one he couldn’t let wait until the morning.

“You should move in with me.” He murmured, half expecting her to be asleep already and leave him no response.

“What?” She questioned, sleep hazed mind causing her to think she’d imagined the words.

“I want you to live with me. I love you a lot, (Y/N), more than I think you realize. Every second I spend without you, I’m missing you. Please at least consider it, I miss you when you aren’t here.” He frowned and led his lips to her forehead once more, his method of comforting himself.

She moved her head up and met his eyes. “I’d really like that,” she said, her own lips placing a kiss to Leon’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Leon nodded at her before looking back up at the ceiling when he saw how groggy she looked, a pang of guilt tugging at his heartstrings. “We can talk about it more in the morning. I didn’t mean to disrupt your sleep, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she yawned, “you’re a good thing to wake up to.”

Before she knew it, she was asleep. Leon smiled, deciding to get his own rest. He pulled her tighter into him, like a teddy bear, letting the soothing scent of her shampoo send him into a peaceful sleep.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 remake #leon scott kennedy #re4 #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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hazbin-but-good · 2 months

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another hazbin hotel rewrite/redesign?

yup! and i'm so serious about it that i made a whole blog for it. i'm a white queer ex-cath tran doing this as an art and writing exercise, so feedback from other creatives + jewish and/or racialized folks is especially welcome.

i'm putting this post and only this post in the main tags for visibility. also, not gonna link my main, but i do make my own original stuff, and i encourage fans and haters alike to do the same.

anyway, here's a mostly good-faith 1.7k-word essay on the original. i think it's pretty funny and brings up some less talked-about points. correct me on the facts, disagree with my opinions, and ask clarifying questions, but don't come at me with any piss-poor reading comprehension.

the hellaverse is garbage, and here's why

cw: strong language, stronger opinions, intersectional feminist critical discourse analysis

1. vivienne medrano, the person

medrano was born as a well-off white-passing latina (salvadoran-american) in bougieass frederick, maryland. while attending new york's top art school, she got popular on deviantart-tumblr-twitter by being a prolific multifandom fujoshi furry who's more into ornamental character design than storytelling. upon graduation, she leveraged her fanbase and industry connections to make the hazbin and helluva boss pilots, get helluva made for youtube, and get hazbin made for amazon prime.

like every woman online, she gets harassed for no good reason, and as a certified autist, i will defend her right to be dumb, weird, annoying, and bad with words. however, there are legit reasons to criticize her:

racism, misogyny, homophobia, fatphobia, some antisemitism, past transphobia, past ableism

shitty boss, bad friend

cowardly, vindictive, manipulative, thoughtless behavior

skeevy friends

sucks at taking criticism

in short, i think she desperately needs a PR person and someone to clean up her digital footprint.

2. medrano's art

incurious

inauthentic

noncommittal

creatively stagnant

overindulgent, and the indulgence isn't even fun

shallow and childish framed as complex and mature

bland and boring framed as shocking and subversive

to be clear, i'm at peace with the existence of suckass art like this; i just think the money, attention, and praise it gets are unearned and should go to more interesting works, of which there are infinite.

medrano's had the time, money, and social cache to grow as an artist, learn from the best, and take creative risks, but she hasn't. if she truly has nothing more to offer, she should let her collaborators take the wheel, but she doesn't do that either. instead, she keeps getting more and more resources to make the same baby bullshit, and that pisses me off. she could be the nicest person ever, and this fundamental arrogance would still make her art blow.

stop with the pointless guilt: liking medrano's work does not make you stupid or evil. however, if you stay in the kiddie pool of culture, if you refuse to engage with a diversity of art, if the hellaverse is your point of reference for anything media-related, you can't expect to have your opinions on art, media, or culture taken seriously. you have not earned a seat at the table. you gotta hit the books first.

i cannot emphasize enough how much incredible stuff is out there if you're willing to look further than what social media and streaming services put right in front of you. if you come away from this blog having learned about just one new artist or piece of art, i'll be a happy camper.

3. the hellaverse

a. empty and confused

hazbin and helluva's content and marketing has no clear target audience. the subjects are inappropiate for teens, but the execution is too childish for adults, and lemme tell you what i don't mean by that, first.

not inherently inappropriate for teens:

sex and sexuality

violence, including when it intersects with the above

politics and religion

not inherently childish:

animation (any style)

comedy

episodic writing and/or loose continuity

young characters

fun, happiness, optimism, the power of friendship, cuteness, tenderness, sincerity, etc.

what i mean is that these shows are literally about adult characters who fuck, smoke, drink, do drugs, go clubbing, work full-time, manage their own finances, and deal with stuff like bureaucracy, sexual violence, domestic abuse, marriage, divorce, late adoption, and family estrangement.

however, none of these "adult" things are given enough specificity to create drama or comedy. it's all too stock, vague, flat, weirdly sanitized, and thus utterly banal—pure aesthetics on top of bad saturday morning cartoons. it's exactly what i'd expect from a sheltered disney kid who needs to log off and get into their local gay scene ASAP so their only contact with things like poverty, policing, addiction, and sex work stops being facile movies and TV.

if the shows were aware of this and played with it, that could be amazing, but they're not. they give you the mickey mouse version of the world with a straight face and then play looney tunes sound effects to try to make you laugh and sad_violin.mp3 to try to make you cry. now that's funny.

b. old and tired

let's make like americans and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist. even within the confines of the USA, home of the hays code, the red scare, and reaganite propaganda, this neopuritan fascist state ruled by 1000 megachurches in a trenchcoat, the indie/underground animation scene has been doing crazier shit for decades. anti-war films in the 60's, bakshi movies in the 70's, the simpsons shorts and r-rated movies in the 80's, adult swim and MTV in the 90's, flash/newgrounds/youtube in the 00's, streaming in the 2010's—so what are we doing in the 2020's with this wet white rice drowned in expired ketchup? i feel crazy making this point because it's obvious if you've watched these things, but if you haven't, you're gonna be like "well, there's gotta be something new here". no! there isn't! in the words of jimmy "the scot" jordan, nothing, nothing, NOTHING!

c. ideological purgatory

actually, there is one thing in these shows i've never seen before: the presbysterianism. shout out some interesting or at least intentional presbysterian art in the comments, because the way these ideas are presented here is not compelling. it just makes the rainbow neoliberalism even more confusing and contradictory.

i guess the big presbysterian things are protestanism, calvinism, and, uh, big church government? presbysterians, get your shit together. get your brand down. catholics have BDSM and vampires, evangelicals have TV and corporatism; what do you have? celtic crosses? no wonder medrano has such uninspired ideas on divinity.

d. queer deficiency

when i look at a piece of art, i ask myself: "what does this give me that i can't get from the hunchback of notre dame (1996)?" if the answer is as limp as "uhh, gay people, i guess", i can probably look for my gay shit elsewhere and rewatch the hunchback of notre dame (1996) in the meantime.

but let's say that you have no standards. you've been waiting for ages for a show about gays by the gays for the gays, and by god you're gonna get it. this is it! here we go! time for some

generic twink obliteration

male sexuality as aggression and dominance displays

WLW (sex and chemistry not included)

a couple straight femdoms

and the stalest sex jokes known to man

...yeah, it's not very queer. and by "queer", i mean "questioning or subverting gender norms (including sexual roles) within a given cultural context regardless of creator identity and intent". i'm not a queer studies scholar so LMK if there's a more specific term for this, but whatever you call it, it's not in the hellaverse much.

there's not even any transness, literal or metaphorical, just ancient drag jokes. i guess the writers thought we would've been too controversial. so much for an indie animation studio that prides itself in the diversity of its staff both above and below the line, bakshi-style. i wonder how medrano, a bisexual woman, would've felt if told that a lesbian main couple in hazbin would be "too controversial".

4. spindlehorse and the vivziepop brand

spindlehorse toons underpays its overworked staff and keeps outsourcing more and more labor to even more overworked freelancers overseas to cut costs. a rainbow sweatshop is still a sweatshop, and just because these practices may be "industry standard" doesn't make them any more ethical.

the studio has also been repeatedly accused by current and former employees and contractors of creating a hostile and abusive workplace. AFAIK, it still has no dedicated HR person, and victims are too afraid of retaliation like blacklisting and online harassment to speak out.

this is exactly the stuff that unions exist to prevent. as i'm writing this, the IATSE (the parent union of TAG, which is the parent union of all US animation unions) is negotiating with entertainment industry executives for better working conditions, and if the execs fuck around like last year, it's strike time again. so watch this space, voice your support, and don't cross any picket lines.

i hope spindlehorse unionizes, but until then and for these reasons, i don't think you should give money to the company.

first of all, all content on amazon-owned platforms is ok to pirate, and all youtube ads are ok to block. everyone involved in making the episodes has (or should have) been paid upfront, so you're not taking the bread out of anyone's mouth.

next, let's look at the succulent offerings of the official vivziepop merch shop:

$10 pins and keychains

$15 sticker packs

$20 mugs and acrylic cutouts

$25 shirts

$30 metal cards (not even tarot)

$40 lounge pants

$50 mini backpacks

random $80 skateboard deck

forgive my latin americanness, but this is all stuff you can get made by a local metalsmith, print/sublimation shop, or just crafty people in your life. it's cheaper, customizable, and better for the environment to skip all the shipping and packaging. also, not painting your own skateboard is poser shit.

the hazbin website also has $15 pins, one $20 keychain, and $6 trading card packs. people are weird about trading cards, so if for some reason you wanna gamble for a mass-produced bit of cardboard, plastic, and tinfoil, at least bulk-order for all the vivziepoppers in your area so it's less of a huge waste. better yet, trace the designs and make infinite bootlegs.

at the end of the day, buying merch is not activism. your bulk order of trading cards will not save any wage slaves from getting evicted from their overpriced studio apartments. however, the shop links you to all the credited artists/designers, and more of your bucks will actually reach them if you buy their designs directly, then turn them into body pillows or life-sized bronze statues or whatever the fuck.

go through the credits of any episode of helluva or hazbin, and you'll find even more creatives you might wanna support. get jinkx monsoon's albums on CD. subscribe to actually good artist, animator, and composer gooseworx. lots of voice actors now have patreon, cameo, or self-hosted pages where you can write better lines for their characters and have them read it. these things may not look as shiny as Official Merch™, but we all need less plastic shit and more culture anyway.

#spindlehorse #vivziepop #hellaverse #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #spindlehorse critical #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #helluva boss redesign #communism #degrowth

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 5 months

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queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

#queer signalling #my posts #long post #anyways............. hmu if you have more bc i know there's more that i've forgotten but i didn't want to wait #but these were my personal highlights #this is for me more than anyone i know. i don't really know if anyone's really waiting on this #but i personally have been feeling like i gloss over a lot #and forget a lot #and minimise a lot for fear of making a big thing out of something small #but... then i make big things into something small.#which i hate #going through my archive just shows how fast an event passes by and i just stopped talking about it #ive complained about this many a time i know #anygays #for whoever wants to come scream with me <3 #also i have left out some events that were too easily deniable and i didn't want to clutter the post #since what's actual tangibly real and straight from them is so insane already #also that gif is how i feel rn.#how i often feel tbh #i want to be braver again

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nyrasbloodyclover · 1 year

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hypnotic (kai anderson x reader)

cw: breeding kink, eating disorder (it's really really bad), mommy issues, mentions of suicide, parental abuse, cults, kai is his own warning really, murder, overstimulation

a/n: if you're not into this pleaseeeee leaveeeeee i don't want tumblr to delete my blog again. also you can read this fic on ao3 if you'd like, link is in my pinned post. and if, by any chance, you relate to this i am so sorry.

What I wanted right now, was to get out of my house, go anywhere, just so I could stop listening to constant fighting and screaming from my parents. I couldn't bear it anymore. I had one year until college but it seemed impossible to survive that long.

"Oh, look who locked herself in her room!" My mother bursted in and a pit started forming in my stomach. I didn't move. "When are you going to start being useful? You're in here all the time, you could start paying rent."

Now, what was I supposed to say to that? If I told her that the reason I spent all my time in my room was because they wouldn't stop screaming at each other and I would just be their punching bag, she wouldn't listen and the situation would only get worse.

"Or maybe it's time for you to find a job. Now you're just living like a parasite." I stared. My mother was a very complex character. I think she would be capable of pulling Gone Girl on us. She has the mentality. Just saying.

My father on the other hand, he's weak. Or she made him weak. I don't remember the last time he stood up for himself. He's tired, I can see that clearly. I just wish they would get a divorce. It's so draining to wake up everyday and live in fear that your every move is going to be a mistake, something to criticize.

I don't remember the last time I felt truly at peace, but I could afford myself distractions. That's how I ended up scrolling through Tumblr 12 hours per day and forgetting to eat because the skinny girls I came across were just so pretty. Food was my enemy. We couldn't stand each other. And the guilt simply because of eating was the worst feeling ever.

Empty is pretty. And I wanted to look pretty, so I starved. It was my sport. It still is. The joy of seeing my hipbones and ribs after some time was indescribable. I loved to lay awake at night and touch my bones, feel them as I tried to fall asleep. Of course, there were many times when I just couldn't take it anymore and I binged. I would regret it immediately and restrict even more.

"Alright. I'll find a job." I stared at her with empty eyes. I was dizzy, almost like I got drunk. She exited the room and slammed the doors behing her. I think I'm never going to fully understand her.

I stared at my ceiling, having no energy to move, even though I had unfinished assignments hanging above my head, screaming at me to do them, but I just wanted to sleep. School can wait. I think my red lipstick was smudged, but I had no energy to take it off. My hair was a mess, too. I tried to straighten it but my natural waves were too stubborn. I fell asleep.

A week passed. My life stayed the same except for my new job at the restaurant—The Butchery On Main.

The two sweet women who own it were kind enough to let me work even though they don't employ people under eighteen. I worked mostly after my school, until the closing. I didn't mind since I got to leave the house and get a break from my parents.

People were nice, I took their orders, served their food. The restuarant was mostly empty during my shifts, but nonetheless it was almost hard, working with food. All those calories around me made me want to puke. And I wasn't much of a puker. I had the urge to binge. It was disgusting. But I wasn't going to throw all my work out of the window just like that.

I had my diet coke and if I got hungry Ivy said that I could eat whatever I wanted, and I wanted cucumber. With pepper. They had those.

Today, I had much free time so I was just sitting at one of the tables and doing my homework while scrolling through Tumblr and eating freshly peeled cucumber with some seasoning on top. I was thriving. I was almost happy. It seemed impossible.

The door opened. A man walked in. He was dressed in black from head to toe and what stood out the most was his blue hair with grown out roots. He walked like he owned the building and everyone in it. I immediately stood up, while he was pulling out his chair, fixing my uniform. I let him read through the menu for a couple of seconds and then decided to approach.

"What would you like to order?" I smiled. I was nice. I am always nice. Why hasn't he looked at me yet? Why is he ignoring my presence? His head was bowed down until he raised it and I was met with black pools that stared at me, or rather through me. I felt dizzy and it wasn't the diet.

"Surprise me," he cocked his head, "I would love to see what you liberals like to eat the most. Maybe it'll make me change my political views."

"Al..right," I dragged on, "Is that all?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Everything will be done in a minute." I wanted to get away from him, as soon as possible. He was probably some Trump obsessed republican who's most likely to tell me to make him a sandwich. Which I am practically doing right now. But I couldn't deny it - He had a beautiful face. I wouldn't consider him that attractive if it weren't for his dead, piercing eyes that silently commanded you to obey every one of his rules.

The food was ready. I had a feeling I would fall on my face next time I locked my eyes with his, which wasn't good. I didn't even know his name! Rachel, one of the cooks, handed me the best steak they had, house's special, "Who is it for?"

I didn't dare look at him. "The one with the blue hair. Just please don't stare. He's creeping me out."

Her eyes went wide, "That's Kai Anderson."

I looked at her blandly. The name didn't mean anything to me.

"You seriously need to watch more television."

"I'm fine, thanks. And if he's some menatlly deranged politician, then I'm not really missing out."

All the politics drained me, and don't get me wrong, I loved to be informed, but when I had to argue with someone about basic human rights, I'd rather not know anything.

I walked over to his table, and put the food on it. "I hope you're not vegan. Either way, enjoy your food." I kept my eyes everywhere, just not on him. He was so unsettling. I had to get away.

"I certainly will," he said and I walked away without a second glance. Jesus Christ, his mere presence was intense.

My shift ended in half an hour and that's when the restaurant was supposed to close. Ivy left early because of some family emergency, so she asked me to close and lock everything for her. I changed into my regular clothes—denim skirt and a white button down with my favorite black sweater, docs and a pair of knee socks. I untangled my hair and tried to brush it out with my fingers.

The tables were empty. Well, mostly. So-called Kai Anderson was still here, not even eating, just looking at some papers and flipping them over, for a while now.

I needed some extra balls to approach him and ask him to leave. Why did I accept to be the last one here? I could've been home by now, sleeping or watching a sitcom, but instead I'm stuck in this building with the strangest and the scariest man I've ever met. But then again, If I were home, my mother would be screaming at me. So I guess it's a win? Also I had to thank Kai for occupying my mind and not letting me think about food. I seriously needed to go to bed before I ended up eating something. Or worse- binging. I think I had less than 200 calories today which is a sign that I am slowly approaching danger zone. It isn't a diet anymore. I can't eat normally. I thought I could go back, but I guess my body won't let me. Or was it my mind?

"Miss?" Someone waved before my eyes.

"Yes? Sorry." Kai was standing beside the table that I occupied.

"Are you closing soon?"

Should I lie? But then again, he isn't stupid. "Yes. Do you want to pay?"

"Oh no. I already did. I just wondered what occupied your mind that much." He had no idea.

"Nothing much. Just tired I guess. Can't seem to balance school and work."

"Ah. You see," he sat across me, "I don't believe you."

"Okay? I didn't try to be persuasive."

He smirked. Dear God, why was he so creepy but so hot at the same time?

"I still want to know what made you zone out for that long." Has he been staring at me the whole time?

"That's creepy. I don't even know you."

"What's that got to do with anything? I just asked you to tell me what's been botherung you. You looked fucking stressed."

"It really doesn't matter." I just wanted him to leave.

"Wait. Here, I'll give you..." he reached into his back pocket, "Fifty bucks if you tell me."

My lips curved. Come on, you can't blame me. Extra cash at my age isn't something you just don't accept.

"Ah! I knew it," he smiled, "Come on, doll, speak."

"It isn't anything interesting. My mom is just being a bitch, nothing unusual." I gave him the least I could and snatched the cash from his hand.

"She isn't letting you sleep over at your boyfriend's or something?" He laughed like I had the dumbest reason for not liking my mother.

"Not really. She just...Wants too much, I guess? And I'm not able to give her that." It felt weird saying that out loud. I think I never said it.

He stared at me for a second.

"I want to show you a trick." He put his right hand on the table. "Don't worry. It's something me and my older brother always used to do when we were little."

He reached with his pinky finger over to my hand. We locked fingers like we were making a pinky promise.

"This is weird. And please hurry. My shift ends in fifteen minutes."

"We have enough time. Okay, listen. Pinky power. Once the skin contact is made, no lies can be told and whatever we say, stays between us," he narrowed his black eyes, "Trust me, if you lie, I will know. Ready?"

When did I agree to this? Well, fuck it, I'll do it anyway.

"Do you love your family?" He asked, his expression serious.

"Yes." His mouth twitched.

"Do you like your family?"

"Absolutely not." I shook my head.

"Why is that?"

How do I explain this to him without sounding like a total maniac? "My father is weak, he doesn't know how to stand up for himself. And my mother screams at me for merely existing. Her favorite hobby is emotionally draining me, then pulling my hair or slapping me because she feels like it. She regrets having me. I think she wants me to kill myself. It would be easier to have a dead daughter." My mind went blank. I felt nothing in that moment. Whatever he asked, I was going to tell him.

"Did you ever try to kill yourself?," he asked with a flat voice.

I thought for a second. Should I tell him the whole truth? He said he's going to know if I lie, but that doesn't mean...

"Don't think too much." His eyes went dark while I was literally choking under pressure of his gaze.

"No. I was never suicidal. I like living. But I..." words were stuck in my throat, "I...Sometimes, she would starve me. Saying I didn't deserve it. I had no money to buy something to eat. So I made a game out of it. I developed a disorder. It was the only thing I had some control over. I started it out of spite, but now it's real. It's worse than ever. But I don't want to stop."

His expression never changed. Not once. "Do you hate your mother for that?"

"You have no idea."

"I think I do have some idea about hating one of your parents. So, from experience, I need to ask you one more question."

I nodded. "Have you ever dreamt about killing her?"

I wanted to pull back from him, but his hand wouldn't let me. He pulled me even closer. "We can't break the contact," he gritted through his teeth.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," I exhaled, "Yes. And no."

"Elaborate."

The restuarant was silent. I couldn't even hear the sound of cars outside. Lights were practically out.

"I...I wanted her dead. But I don't think I would be able to do it. I had a," I inhaled, "A fantasy about someone killing her while I watched. It's so fucked up, but I just couldn't help it. It brought me relief that she was gone and someone cared enough to get rid of her for me."

I was scared to look at him. He was going to call the mental ward and lock me there. I was fucked. Why did I tell him all of that?

I looked up.

He was smiling. It wasn't a sympathetic smile, or a sad smile, or anything similar to that. He was grinning like a maniac. He released my hand and I realized my eyes were filled with tears. I blinked them away.

He shook his head with closed eyes, "You're perfect. Perfect."

My voice was low, weak. "What? How could you think that after what I just told you?"

"Don't ask too many questions. I have a solution for you because I know you're destined for greater things. Tell me, do you wish to never be under your mother's thumb again?"

"I mean, yes? That's going to be when I turn eighteen, so I have to be patient."

He laughed. "Oh, no, baby, no. She's never going to let you go. She'll suffocate you until there is nothing left but a shell. No matter the age or what the law says, you'll always be controlled. While she's alive, at least."

"What are you saying?"

"Do you want my help? Do you wish to be finally free?"

This was so fucked up. I never met this man in my life. Why was he offering me help?

"What's in it for you?"

He cocked his head, "I get to keep you by my side."

My mouth was dry. I was scared, but...excited. Thrill rushed down my body as this psychopath was staring at me, offering me a sick escape. I was supposed to say no. I was supposed to save my soul.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"I want your help."

He looked so happy, it made me happy.

"Good. Then, we're leaving now." I was hypnotized by him. I just nodded, not asking where or why, my mother taught me I shouldn't get in the cars with strangers, especially men, but my mother was also the reason for many of my problems. I'll do something that'll piss her off.

I got into Kai's car and shut the door. I was okay with the fact that he might end up killing me.

He said nothing for the most of the ride, but I noticed him glancing over at my skirt that rose up to my thighs. I didn't bother pulling it down. I mean, I wore mini skirts for a reason, right?

I pretended not to notice as I looked at my reflection in the closed window. Hollow cheeks, red lipstick, pale face. I was obsessed. I always wanted to look like a corpse with make up. My face was perfect, lipstick untouched, mascara a little smudged, dark circles under my eyes from sleepless nights.

"You know you could eat a burger." I looked at him. I almost wanted to hug him. His words made me feel proud, like I achieved something big. And I guess I did.

"Really? Do you know that you're the first person ever to tell me that?" I felt weird happiness in my chest.

"Well, yeah. Why do you look so surprised? I didn't mean it as a compliment. You have a problem. I'm not even sure it's supposed to be a compliment." He frowned, not taking his eyes off the road.

"It doesn't matter if it's supposed to be a compliment or not. Thank you for saying it." I didn't give two fucks if he thought I was some anorexic lunatic that needed years of therapy. I was happy. And he wasn't my parent or my guardian to tell me what to do.

"Just think about it. What's the point of being so skinny? It's not even attractive."

"The point is in being clean. I don't want to see a pound of fat on my body. It's disgusting. And I am to do with my body as I please. I don't give a fuck if someone likes to eat like a fucking pig because It's not my body, and certainly not my problem." I was so angry. Who the fuck he thought he was?

"Just saying. You look sick. And I mean really, really sick."

"I am aware. Like I'm also aware that I'm fucked in the head. And that's the reason for all of this," I gestured over my figure.

I could feel his anger. He didn't like that I disagreed with him and stood up for myself, even if I was wrong.

"We're here." He suddenly said, getting out of the car. I followed him into the house I guessed was his. The whole neighborhood was silent. Lights were off everywhere.

We got into his house and I didn't even got to see it clearly because he practically dragged me into his basement and started changing. He put on a black leather coat while looking for something. His phone? He called someone.

"I'm expecting you'll be here in five? Well don't try to make up excuses. This is a perfect opportunity. I don't care— No, drag yourself and your pathetic wife here." He called two more people and I just stood in the middle of the room staring at him.

"What's your adress?" Was he really doing that now? "You know what, never mind. I found it." I wasn't going to ask him how. He looked like the person who instead of Instagram browsed dark web.

"Okay, let's go. They're here." I had to ask him because he said nothing about it. I had to be sure.

"Why are we going to my house?"

Beat. A moment. "To kill your mother, of course."

There were other people with us, but I couldn't see their faces because of the creepy clown masks. Kai had one too. I felt like I was drugged. I didn't know what happened to me. I suppose I had enough. I know Kai is not the answer for my problems, at least not all of them. He's going to get rid of her and then what? No. Stop thinking.

I listened to my brain this time. It was late. My parents were probably asleep. Probably in separate beds. It's going to be easier for Kai and the others to do the job. They kept their mouths shut and I didn't blame them. I still wasn't sure if I was part of this sick cult or whatever it was. I read enough about them to recognize a cult leader when I see one.

The car suddenly stopped. We were in front of my house.

"This played out so good, little lamb. I knew you were perfect." Kai's voice was muffled under that mask and his words made my heart flutter. He was so sick. "Don't just stand there, baby. Be a good host. Invite us in. Come on," he gestured with one gloved hand towards my house. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I turned my back and started walking towards the door. What did he mean by this playing out good? Did he plan this before? It certainly did not matter.

We got in, doors creaking, but not enough to wake anyone up. My father was downstairs, in the guestroom, but my Satanic mother was in their bedroom. I went first, up the stairs, one by one, they followed me, Kai first, then the rest of them.

I showed them the doors.

Kai got in and they followed him. I shut the door behind me. I felt like I was seeing things through someone else's eyes. I didn't feel guilt and I wasn't regretting my decision. I remember everything through a coat of blur. Knives, a lot of them. They killed her in her sleep. Stabbed her too many times, I lost count. Sheets were soaked with red and the room started smelling like iron too. Kai used her blood to draw some sign on the wall that was facing the bed. It looked like a smiley face, but I wasn't sure. The job was done. I was free. I was free of any charges, since I wasn't home when it happened. I was going to sleep in my bed and wake up in the morning, shocked, petrified, screaming for help, calling the police, my father is going to be terrified too, but relieved. He would never admit it thought.

We were in the car again. Then in front of Kai's house. "Leave. I want some time alone with our newest member."

"Kai, no. You can't drag her into this. She's just a child—" A feminine voice scorned him under her mask.

"Don't tell me what to do, Winter. Now leave," he raised his voice and I flinched. "We have much to talk about." He took off his mask and smiled knowingly at me. I wasn't scared of him anymore, though I knew I should be. He killed my mother for Christ's sake!

We went into his basement again. The lights were already on and I watched him as he took off his mask and black coat. His shirt was soaked with my mother's blood.

"What did you want to talk about?" I cocked my head.

"You were so good. I knew you could do it. Next time, maybe you'll even be the one holding the knife. You didn't even flinch!" He paced through the room and laughed, like he was talking to himself.

"You didn't do this for me, did you?"

He stopped, then looked at me, "I already told you. This played out perfectly. And I've been watching for quite some time now," his eyes darkened "When I found out that the woman who's been talking shit about me over her social media had a daughter, I had to see if she was as bitchy as her mother." Oh, so he did this to save his reputation. Of course.

"And," I swallowed, "Is she?"

He didn't answer me. Instead he marched to the other side of the room and pushed me against the wall, slamming his lips on mine. I was out of breath, not being able to process everything. Oh my god, he was kissing me! This insane, sick in the head, narcissistic, 30-something, psychopath was kissing me and I opened my mouth to him like the whore I was. I wanted him to touch me. No, I needed his blood stained hands on me right now.

I pulled one of his hands and put it on my chest as his tongue continued to explore my mouth. He took off my sweater and shirt. I was left in a black bra and skirt.

"Aren't you scared of being arrested for fucking a minor?"

"I commited far more monstrous crimes than fucking a seventeen year old and you know it, " he breathed into my mouth. Red lipstick was smudged over his lips. His hand that was on my chest slipped under my skirt and found my panties.

"You know it," his fingers entered me with ease, "And yet, you're still so fucking wet for me." My mouth fell open as he buried his fingers deeper if that was even possible. I wasn't a virgin, but then again, I've never been with a man. I took my own virginity so that I didn't have to bother.

"Kai—" I breathed. I needed more.

He sat on one of the chairs beside the circular table and pulled me onto his lap, his thigh between my legs. My clit was aching for some king of friction so I started rubbing myself against the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Aren't you desperate?" He pushed me on the floor, between his legs, he pulled out his belt and unzipped his pants. His intentions were clear and I was happy to oblige, but I had to touch myself or I'd go insane. I started stroking his already hard dick and rubbing my clit at the same time.

He noticed. And he wasn't happy about it. "I thought you were going to be patient. But I guess not." He took his belt and with one move he tied my hands behind my back while I was still kneeling in front of him.

"Please, I just need to—"

"Yes, yes, I know, but you have to deserve it. Am I right?"

I nodded hesitantly and he scooped up my hair in his fist and used it to pull my head down. I took him into my mouth as the wetness and ache grew between my legs.

Kai continued to pull my head down until his tip hit the back of my throat and I gagged. He chuckled.

My eyes teared up as I sucked his dick like my life depended on it.

He grunted and raised his hips, so I knew he was close. And I knew he was going to either come in my mouth or...

He pulled out and finished on my tits, painting my chest with his cum.

"You were so good," he said with his head tilted back and eyes closed. He let my hair fall down my back and over my face. Kai dressed and got up, then pulled me with him, still tied.

He slammed me on the desk and I was able to just lay there and let him do whatever he wanted to me. Not that I minded.

"I feel like I'm going to break you," he said as he traced my very visible ribs with the tips of his fingers. "Break every bone in your body."

I could feel my stomach sinking in and his words made me even a bigger mess than I already was. "Do it, please, please," I cried out as my hips rose towards him.

"Since you asked so nicely...And the skirt stays on. Do you know how much willpower it took me not to bury my hand under your skirt and make you beg for more while we were driving?" He pulled my skirt up and didn't even bother to take off the panties, he just ripped them. He towered over me as I layed on his table, feeling the cool air on my swollen clit.

Kai's fingers went over my aching pussy and my back arched towards his touch. He did nothing for a split second and then came the first slap. I yelped as the burning spread between my legs, but I didn't tell him to stop. He slapped me even harder and I cried out, most ungodly sounds coming from my mouth.

"Don't worry, you can scream as loud as you'd like."

He slapped my dripping cunt once more and after that I was sure I was going to feel his hands on me days after. He didn't wait for me to recover from his brutality, instead he buried two fingers inside me and started scissoring, wanting to spread me even wider. I threw my head back as he added one more. He buried them knuckle deep inside me and began curling them.

"I feel like you're a big girl. You can take one more." He didn't wait for my agreement. His four fingers were inside, making my pussy burn with pleasure. I wasn't able to form words. He spat on me and started massaging my clit while almost his whole hand was thrusting in and out of me. I felt pressure deep in my lower stomach and started panting and moaning for him to continue, but he did exactly the opposite.

My cunt was left empty without his fingers and I could almost cry. I just needed a bit more.

"Don't look so upset. I'm not finished with you."

Kai untied me and took his belt. He spread my legs as wide as he could and started spanking my pussy with it. I screamed more in pain than surprise, "Kai, no, stop, please stop-"

The pain was unbearable, but it was just enough for my clit to start pulsing more and that pressure in my belly to grow. I screamed in pain as he continued to hit me with no mercy. I could feel my walls clenching and my back arched as I came undone. Orgasm hit me and I came down from my high, but Kai didn't stop.

He started rubbing my abused cunt, overstimulating it. He was deaf to my begging and crying. It was too much. There was no pleasure anymore, just pure pain, but he continued to massage it and after a couple of minutes I was shaking with another orgasm. I knew I was too sensitive, but when I tried to close my legs, he stopped me. Then I noticed his rock hard dick under his jeans and my heart dropped. I was going to pass out. He was going to use me, not caring for my pleasure anymore.

"Just hold still a little more, doll." He pulled his dick out and slammed himself inside me, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. Everything hurt, but he didn't care. His thrusts were fast and rough, I couldn't keep up. I could feel his orgasm building and he had no intention of pulling out. Kai continued to slam into me until he reached his peak. He filled me with his seed and when he finally pulled out I could feel it dripping from my pussy.

Kai helped me get up and as he was untying his belt, his hot breath was on my neck. "Welcome to the cult, baby."

#kai anderson fanfic #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #ahs cult #ahs fanfic #ahs coven #ahs #american horror story #kit walker #tate langdon #james patrick march #jimmy darling #evan peters fanfic #evan peters #evan peters x reader

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idkaguyorsomething · 5 months

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The Problem of Susan Fic Recs

For many reasons, The Last Battle is probably the most contentious addition to the Narnia canon. The standout, though, has to be the infamous Problem of Susan, wherein the Pevensie children are all killed in a train crash and brought to Narnia 2 Electric Boogaloo aka heaven, then declare that Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia because of her interest in “lipsticks and nylons”. Hardly any time is spent on this, but the implications have been the ground for a lot of argument and discussion. What exactly would happen to Susan, and should it have happened? Over the years, dozens of fic writers have thrown their hats in the ring and weighed in on the subject, making the Problem of Susan almost a prism for the fandom: everyone shines through it a bit differently, resulting in a wide spectrum. Here’s some of the highlights under the cut.

http://shedletsky.com/blog/the-god-who-loves-you

Starting with the fic that coined the term, written by Neil Gaiman himself, this fic is a reflection and deconstruction of the idea that Susan would be able to find Narnia again by delving into the trauma that the experience of losing all her family at once as well as the social injustices that a young woman of her time would’ve faced, something that the narrative of The Last Battle never really addresses. It took off for a reason, as it presents a lot of good food for thought, but it’s also got some pretty weird shit that can feel like it’s conflating adulthood with edginess. Well worth a read for all the points it raises, but if you’re fond of canon you probably won’t like the way it takes a hammer to it.

Now this one is exactly what you’d want to read if you wanted some feel-good time. This story is probably the closest to how C S Lewis would’ve written Susan’s return to Narnia, detailing her rediscovering all the things she put away as well as what led up to her rejecting Narnia in the first place. It falls more to the end of being almost uncritical of canon, with the focus on Susan basically having the same sort of religious rediscovery that C S Lewis himself had in his life. Because of how she was treated in canon, that can be pretty frustrating, but the ending feels nothing short of joyous.

Swinging back to the other end of the spectrum, this fic is very critical of the idea of The Last Battle being a pretty happy ending for everyone, unambiguously stating that life is always worth living for all the Pevensie kids. It explores what their lives could’ve been like if they didn’t die, being a rebuttal of C S Lewis’ themes rather than a continuation of them while feeling equally as happy as the fic directly above.

And this story feels like a midway point between the above two. It dives really deep into the emotional damage that Susan would’ve suffered before and after the train crash in some absolutely gorgeous prose, showing both her and Aslan with great sympathy while maintaining that what happened to her is not a punishment in any way. Bittersweet and very, very good.

Heading back towards the more critical end of the spectrum, this fic presents a Susan who is not interested in finding Narnia again, only her family. She is very much a character straight out of an ancient myth rather than a teen trying to make sense of a senseless situation here, filled with determination as much as desperation. It’s probably the closest fic on here to having something close to a plot as well as a character study, with the exception of The Queen’s Return and one other:

Being a crossover with what’s pretty much the antithesis of the Chronicles of Narnia, His Dark Materials, it’s probably easy for you to guess which side of the spectrum this story falls on. It’s more of a HDM story than a Narnia one, but the two worlds blend together surprisingly well, and it gives us a rare look into a Susan who’s lived decades of her life when the story picks up. She’s pretty much the Professor and it is fascinating, as is everything left to interpretation by this gem of a fic that is ambiguous yet deeply satisfying.

¡And here’s Susan as a Doctor Who companion! This isn’t directly a Narnia story so much as it is one about two people much older than they look mourning the loss of their worlds, with a Susan who is a queen wise beyond her years. Reading it is like taking an ice shower. It doesn’t hold back on the grief, and as a result it manages to feel honest as it reaches a warm ending.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/24311

Despite also being a crossover, this is in some ways the opposite of touch the sky with two arms. Susan is more of an everyday young woman than a queen, and [SLIGHT SPOILERS] Narnia itself does feature directly. But y’know, that’s part of what makes fandom so interesting. Not everyone is going to have the same take on everything, and the ending of this leans more happy than melancholy.

¿A shipping fic that’s also a crossover with Peter Pan that features neither Neverland or Narnia? Yes, this one probably has the least to do with Narnia or Aslan, but it tells a very compelling story about living life and growing up, something that isn’t perfect but can be good if you find someone you want to spend your life with. Susan Pevensie and Wendy Darling are a really good couple, pinky promise.

Technically more a series of ensemble oneshots, but Susan features very prominently in a lot of them, and they will make you feel every feeling that everything else on this list might’ve given you. Satisfaction, devastation, simple joy, just go give it a shot.

#phew that’s probably just barely scraping the surface but those would be my top recs #feel free to add on any others that you know about #the tournament will go up soon btw #narnia #chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia #susan pevensie #the problem of susan #the last battle #his dark materials #hdm #tcon #pevensie siblings #wendy darling #doctor who #fic rec #ao3

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txttletale · 10 months

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i want to be super clear as often as possible btw that as much as i like being the nice computer times patient explanations of communist theory gal and as nice as it is to be seen that way -- i also think that my comrades who are rude and angry online have every right to be. the world is rage-inducing. injustice is rage-inducing. every now and then i will get an ask that's like 'oh i'm glad you're not mean like such-and-such marxist-leninist blog' and even when i have my own criticisms of those people i don't really appreciate the comparison

#tattletxt

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peaky-shelby · 1 year

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New Romantics | Mbappé [5]

» summary: in which an arrogant and talented football player (the best of his time as some say) and a focused and harsh critic of a journalist are gonna have to find a way to co-exist.

« previous chapter

» chapter 5: tears of Mascara

» writer's note: i have two things for you. Except a 10k chapter which i hope you guys won't stop reading midway. First is this playlist. Dedicated alone to this chapter. Second Is the chapter trailer below. I'll try to do these videos for every chapter bc it's kinda fun 👀👀 alsoooooo i apologize for the angst and well... The ending.

» Taglist: @moonchildohh @formulahoe @princetongirlll818 @mavieesttriste16 @kiwisa @godessstela @hummusxx @kodzuvk @pink-manz @corbyns-smile @ippid @jayruiewo265738 @blueanfield @mrs-bellingham @sorceresski @sooblovebot @okayymochi @army7g @j-rbps @heli991113 @markhyucksmells @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @i0veless @photmath @http-isabela @rainytelevisionfilmwagon @formula101x @neymarloverxxx @cepolar @freespirit-51

TRAINING CAMPUS / PRIVATEL ROOM - DAY

“So that’s two T’s for Lottin then?”

Kylian leaned in looking at her notes “Is my full name really necessary for this?”

“Think I’ll just call you little lotte from now own” she smiled and he tried to snatch the paper right from under her arm but she held it down “keep your hands away, will you?”

“You are enjoying this too much.”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked and pulled her paper closer to her, writing his name on the top. Kylian kept glancing between her and her notes, leaning back on his chair.

He wanted to get out of the room, maybe even lock her inside. He thought about it, numerous times, thinking what way would be quicker and looking around for a key. “I want this to be over as quick as you do so just answer my questions and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

Had the two started getting along after their moment at the end of the match 3 days ago? Yes, kinda. During the next couple of days neither of them tried to kill each other or provoke each other, which was progress but her presence was still a threat to him and every time he saw her whispering away with Galtier he felt a sense of annoyance in his chest. Hakimi had to poke him or hit him to get him focused on the training.

“you’re staring.” He told him one day, throwing the ball on his face. Kylian caught it right before it hit his nose and held it down “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a crush on her.” Kylian gave him a puzzled look.

“Tais-toi!” he said and Hakimi winked.

A crush on her? She was a stubborn, child-like girl that didn’t know when to shut up. He laughed at the thought, leaning his head back on the chair. Taylor noticed, raising her eyes at him “is there something funny I missed?”

“No.” Kylian said, shrugging his shoulders and sat straight “let’s get over with this.”

She studied him. He was obviously hiding something , she knew that smile all too well by now. The smile of a person that was thinking of ways to annoy her. But Taylor had started enjoying their banter. It wasn’t just yelling and offensive comments anymore, they teased each other regularly, almost like they were friends.

One day during the end of training, while she was sitting in her usual spot, watching over them like a hawk, Neymar took the initiative to call for her.

“Hey Taylor come see this!” he said and she looked at him confused. She was curious to know more so she made her to him. He was standing next to Ramos. Kylian and Hakimi were jogging behind them. Neymar had a ball under his foot.

“What is it?” she asked

Neymar pointed at the ball on his foot, like he wanted her to duck and take a closer look. Which she did. She was puzzled to say the least but before she could glance up at him and ask him what was going, she was being showered by the automatic water stations on the grass. She yelled, falling backwards by the surprise and the pressure. Neymar began running when she got up to chase him. She twisted the station of the source so it would target him but he ducked and instead it got on Kylian.

“Ah merde!” he yelled and looked at her, while he moved quickly away from the sprays of water, bumping on Hakimi. He looked at himself, his wet clothes and then up at her. He was pissed.

She was trying to hold in her laugh and apologize but she couldn’t hide how much pleasure she took by the accident. Kylian started coming closer to her, his dark eyes making her sweat and worry. She walked backwards, she didn’t know if he was teasing her or if he was actually mad but his glare was doing something to her. She was almost enjoying it until another station turned on automatically, this time behind her, the water hitting her on her back. She ran forward to where Kylian was but before she could pass him, he grabbed her, his arms tying around her and pulling her closer to the source as revenge. Finally laughing while she kicked her legs and tried to get away from his hold, screaming when the cold water washed her entire body. He let her down quickly in front of the source and they both sprinted away in different directions. Looking at each other while the spraying waters separated them. They were smiling in between their heavy breaths, bopping there heads. Almost like they liked one another.

Kylian had already moved on to a conversation with Hakimi when be very swiftly removed his shirt.

Taylor was still looking.

He caught it, grinning at her before moving inside the building. Giving her a wink of acknowledgment. That was her the first time she caught herself slipping.

A few moments later she rushed downstairs to the locker rooms, opened one of the closets with the spare clothes and took a sweatshirt with the PSG logo. She went to the showers and took her shirt off, using one of the towels to rub her skin and bra that was also a little wet.

“Freaking 5-year-olds-” she murmured but she was smiling.

She looked up in the mirror while rubbing her hair when she promptly saw a head peaking behind the wall. She turned around instantly, checking. Covering her breasts with her towel. But there was no one there.

She put on the sweatshirt right away, tied her hair up and left.

That little adventure was the reason why she had been sneezing all day and during the interview of course.

“Got a cold?” Kylian asked.

“Yeah, an asshole decided to have a water fight in the middle of January.”

“Ah, I’m sure he meant well”

“No-“ she sneezed “pretty sure it’s part of a big plot to get rid of me.”

Taylor began with her questions. Easy ones at first and things that he could answer with a yes or no. he preferred answering with one word, it meant he didn’t have to communicate with her too long but she started to take notice of his tactic, looking up at him.

“Do you believe your personal life influences the way you play recently?”

“No.” he said bluntly. She didn’t seem to believe him and her eyes remained on him, examining every line on his face, anything that would give away his lying. They lingered like that for a while, looking at each other, expecting for one another to say or do something.

“Do you feel like it has in the past?”

“no.” he said again. She laughed at his quick response and started writing on the paper. Kylian tried to peak and see what she was noting, whatever it was it was longer than his answer “what are you writing?”

“Your answer.”

“My answer was one word, not one paragraph.”

“was it?” she asked, her voice coming out in a high pitch.

“pute” he mumbled under his breath. “are you freestyling with these?”

“You know my high school French is not that good but I know that word you keep saying isn’t a kind one.”

“Too busy playing football in high school, right?”

“Excuse me?” she seemed worried now as she looked at him. He smiled.

“You said you learnt to play in high school, so I’m guessing you weren’t really paying attention in French. C'est une honte. J'aimerais vous entendre parler cette langue.“ [it’s a shame I’d like to hear you speak the language.]

“Excuse me?” she asked, not able to translate his last comment. He smiled because he had just found his new favorite game. “We are here to focus on you so lets not waste time on me or French lessons.”

“Why wouldn’t we? I mean I’m very interested to know where the journalist learnt to play like a pro.” He bent forward, placing his arms on the table and staring in her eyes. “Tu as eu un footballeur comme petit ami? Aimes-tu les footballeurs?” [Did you have a footballer boyfriend? Do you even like footballers?]

He was trying to make her uncomfortable and it was working. Still if there was one thing that taylor could do was hide her nerves in front of men like him. So, her eyes remained icy and her expression unbothered. “Je pense que oui. Et peut-être que tu as un petit béguin pour Marquinhos.” [I think you do. I think you might have a crush on Marquinhos]

“Enough with the french Kylian.”

“I’m trying to help you practice.”

“I’m the one asking the questions in English. So, sit back and let me finish this so I can go home.” He grinned. Her icy exterior couldn’t fool him. She’d always get nervous when asked about her past or her boss. “Are you satisfied with your performance in the last game?” she asked again.

He twisted his tongue, biting it. The two could be in a staring contest the way that they were going. He didn’t want to answer the question. She wouldn’t stop until she got an answer out of him. And yet the longer she looked in his eyes, the more the warmth in her chest would grow. He angled himself even closer, a mischievous grin on his lips “how about this. You’ll answer one of my questions, I’ll answer two of yours.”

“that’s not how interviews work. You’re just trying to avoid the question,”

“Did you play professionally?”

“Did your performance in the last game leave you satisfied?” she persisted.

“I think you did.” He whispered “mais tu n'es jamais assez bien.” [but you were never good enough] He grinned, a suggestive grin “Mais tu étais sexy dans l'uniforme, je l'admets.” [Although you did look sexy in that uniform].

Her eyes found his in surprise. That word sounded the same almost in any language. “Tu l'étais aussi dans la salle de bain..” [you did in the bathroom too] If only she knew what he had confessed. She wanted to ask what he said but that grin of his was too annoying. She knew he wanted her to ask, to continue his little game so she didn’t. She took the initiative to lean forward as well, not calculating in her mind how much closer that simple movement would bring them.

“I think it didn’t leave you satisfied. You pretty much said so to me in the roof, remember? I think it hasn’t for a while.” She said in his face. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting from her eyes to her notes. Sometimes stopping on her lips “I think you’re scared to admit it. Γιατί είσαι δειλός.” He tried to process what language she was speaking, thought he had heard wrong. She smiled. “Two can play this game.”

“What language is that?”

“My grandmother was Greek.”

He gasped in understanding “that’s why you’re so loud all the time.”

She scrunched up her face, taking his stereotypical comment as a compliment “Can we get back to the interview please? How do you feel your personal life impacts your performance?”

“Some nights you can’t give your 100%.”

“When was the last time you gave your 100%?”

He didn’t like that question. It stunk. How did she do that? Always found the one thing to say that would get him angry, that would mess with his mind. He felt the temperature raising from his stomach to his chest while her eyes pierced through his walls and he drew back. His expression changed completely, he didn’t want to play anymore, he wanted this godforsaken interview to be over. “How long do we have left? Ney’s interview was done in 10 minutes.”

“Neymar was answering the questions in english” She answered quickly, pointing out the difference “even Verratti was more cooperative.” Kylian laughed at that, crossing his arms “true it was because he can’t stand being in the same room with me for longer than 5 minutes but at least he was talking. Now-“ she paused, her expression getting stricter “do I have to repeat myself?”. His eyes drifted away, searching for an escape. He wasn’t going to answer her.

“What did Verratti say when you asked him that?”

“I don’t have the same questions for everybody.”

Somehow that hurt even more. She kept waiting for him to speak, say anything but his lips remained closed and she decided and she knew she wasn’t getting anything out of him. Nothing like the things he told her on the roof. So what was the point? She was over it. “You know what?” she got up, piling up her papers in a folder “we are done, you can go.”

“What?” his eyes darted while she was picking up her stuff.

“I got what I need. We are good.” She gave him a fake smile and moved around the table to get to the exit. When she passed in front of him, he jumped up from his seat, pushing his chair back and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. She crashed on his chest, looking down before looking up, realizing how close she was when she could taste his breath on her lips. Seconds later and they were still looking at each other, standing in such close proximity that they could notice all the details in each other’s faces. His hand tied like a tight bracelet around her.

All of a sudden, he forgot the reason he grabbed her in the first place because all he could think of was her undressed figure, standing in front of the mirror, the day before. He hadn’t thought about it until now that she was as close to him and he let his mind imagine what was under her clothes.

“Let go of my arm. You have 10 seconds.”

He blocked out his inappropriate thoughts.

“you said to me every time you think you are getting close, I turn into a dick. Well, every time I think I can trust you; you turn into a bitch-“

She yanked his hand away. He licked his own teeth, biting his tongue and his lips. She didn’t say anything. She simply moved away and went for the door when-

“Wait for the game with RENNES. Send whatever these are after it.”

She stopped and faced him. He was like a kid begging for a second chance in the final exam because he knew he had failed before the results were out. She knew it wouldn’t make a difference in her report if she waited. She had already decided what she would write. But a part of her wanted to believe that she’d see something better, something that would change her mind and the conclusion of her report. A part of her wanted to help him.

“Why? You’re gonna give your 100% in that game?”

“You don’t think I can?”

“I wouldn’t know Kylian.” She opened the door “I told you the day I met you. I just write what I see.” She winked and walked out. He stood alone in the private room. Rubbing the back of his head and thinking. He looked at his palm, the palm that had fit perfectly around her arm. He breathed in deeply. A part of him wishing he could be as close to her more often.

GALTIER’S OFFICE – DAY

“I think it’s unnecessary. According to Marcos, you’ve already earned their respect.” Said Galtier standing in front of the wide windows. Marcos was sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk and Taylor was standing up, trying to look as calm as she could. Even though her heart always beat a little faster when she was in the room with Galtier.

“That’s exactly why I don’t think we should tell them yet. I know I agreed for a week but things are just starting to work out and I think I should be the one to tell them the truth when it’s right. Otherwise, it will backfire” She felt like she was being examined by him with the way he was eyeing her. She held tighter on her folders and tried so her eyes wouldn’t reflect her fear.

“How long are we talking about?”

“Just a couple of days after the game with RENNES.”

“And why aren’t the reports ready yet?”

“They are” she paused “sort off. I just haven’t a complete view of every player yet and I think it would be better if you let me attend one more game before I give them to you.”

“Ms. Wilock…” he unbuttoned his suit and sat on his chair, looking over at her “it sounds to me like you came here with a bunch of excuses. This isn’t high school-“

“I understand sir-“

“I’m not sure you do. And do me a favor, do not interrupt me when I’m talking.” She felt her pride shattering and shrinking. Marquinhos glanced at her, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I offered you this job because I thought you were up to it. I’m starting to have doubts.”

She looked at him, trying to find the right words when she realized there are none so she just went for it “Sir with all due respect-“ she made a step forward “you trusted me with a very important and heavy position, for which I’m thankful, but if you lose faith in me just because I’m not doing it your way then I don’t understand why I’m here at all” Marquinhos smiled, his eyes now glancing at Galtier who seemed to be as surprised with her as he was. “I’ve gotten closer to the team already, and I think I proved my loyalty on the previous game with that yellow card- which is not gonna happen again by the way” she raised her finger nervously, let out a laugh which she swallowed just as quickly “but the point is that when they find out the truth, if it’s not the right time and the right way, I’m gonna lose them.” Her eyes almost got warmer like she was about to cry “let me do this my way and I promise you will not regret it. They boys are broken; they don’t need another coach to yell in their face-” she glanced over at Marquinhos “they need someone to be there for them.”

He didn’t answer which only made her more nervous. She really thought the next thing she’d hear was that she was fired. Why was she risking everything like that? Who was he risking it for?

“She’s right.” Marcos said, putting a momentarily pause on her thoughts. She looked at him, surprised for his support. “They boys have began trusting her so I don’t think there will be much protest when her position is revealed. However, when they find out she is JW, it will be a tough pill to swallow for some. They will eventually get over it, and I don’t think it will be a big deal but maybe it’s best we do it after the game with RENNES so they are focused on that. To trouble them with this now will be a mistake. We can tell them before the trip and friendly match in Qatar.”

Galtier looked like he was considering it. He kept looking at both of them, pouting his lips and it looked to Taylor like it had been hours before he finally nodded and gave them both his approval. “Alright. I expect everything to be sorted before we leave for Qatar then. But that’s your final chance. You hear me?”

“Yes sir!”

“And I want those goddamn reports before then.”

“You’ll have them.” She reassured and with a nod exited the office. Before she left, she mouthed and inaudible ‘thank you’ to Marcos and he smiled back at her.

When the two men were alone, they grinned at each other. Galtier reclined on his chair “You think they’re gonna eat her alive?”

“No.” he said “On the contrary, I think she is exactly what they need. She’s already bringing the team together in her own way. She’s nervous, yes…” he laughed “but she just needs time.”

“I told you before we hired her Marcos. All she’s getting is a month.”

“And that’s enough for her, trust me. She’ll prove to you her worth before then”

“She better.”

TRAINING CAMPUS / HALLWAYS – DAY

“Taylor!” Marquinhos called for her as soon as he got out of the office. She turned around to him, let out a gasp of relief and threw herself on him, hugging him as tight as she could. He chest vibrated in laughter and his face lit up as he patted her back.

“Thank you.” She mumbled in his shirt and pulled back to look in his eyes “You’re my savior.”

He laughed “don’t worry about it.” He rubbed her head, smiling. “You got this.”

“Do I?” he tilted his head “yes, I do. Of course, I do.”

“I do have a question though.”

“What is it?”

“This morning you told me you had your last Interview with Kylian and your reports would be completed so you wanna tell me what really happened?” She couldn’t lie to him. He had that look of the good teacher you had at primary school, that was never loud but was strict in a sweet way. That wanted the best for you and knew when you were lying before you even got the chance to lie.

She sighed “Kylian asked me to delay them-“ He raised his eyebrows and she pulled her hands up to stop him from making assumptions “He doesn’t know about all this but he figured out the interviews were for something important and he asked for one more performance before you know… I sent them over to JW.”

“You really think one game is gonna make a difference to his report?”

“No…” she whined, rubbing her head “But I’m trying to get on his good side so I figured that I could give him a second chance-“

“It could have cost you your job.”

“I know. Which is why I’m not really happy about it.” She explained, her voice trailing off as she spoke “I don’t know maybe it wasn’t for him. Maybe it was for me because I know that when the truth comes out they’ll all hate me anyway.” She groaned, hit her face with her folders and held them up to hide her expression “What was I thinking?”

“Taylor. Calm down. It’s ok.” He laughed while trying to comfort her, he pushed the folders down, away from her face.

“You think they’re gonna forgive me?”

Marcos gave her a careful look. Just as before, it resembled a teacher that knew more than he was letting on “Are you referring to all of them in general or do you have someone specific in mind?” He raised his hand before she could even react to his comment “Actually I don’t want to know.”

“Just for the record it was all of them-“

“Sure. Listen, half of them never cared about the articles. It was the ones you targeted most that you’ll have to deal with. Ramos, Neymar, Verratti… Kylian.”

“That last one is gonna bury me alive.”

“You’ll be fine. Just have those reports ready after the RENNES game.”

“Yes captain!”

“Tay!” Neymar shouted her name from the other side of the hall. She looked at him, her heart getting heavy because she already knew what this was about. Marquinhos patted her on the shoulder and she smiled at him before walking over to Neymar.

“Everything alright?”

Neymar glanced at his phone, handing it over to her. She held it in her palms, reading the article that he had opened for her. It was the one she had written. She looked up at him, a bit regretful, a bit scared.

“Did you know he was going to post that?”

She wanted to say yes, she wanted to tell him the whole truth and ask for forgiveness because she knew she had hurt him. God knows how much she had struggled writing in the last couple of days about any of the boys. Instead, she shook her head, because she couldn’t handle what the truth would do to him. “I mean…” she bit on her lips, sighing “I knew he was…” she gulped “writing something about you-“

“Neymar Jr. gives another mid performance after his return from the world cup in a team he clearly doesn’t want to be in-“ she tried to stop him but he kept going. She felt like she was being repeatedly stabbed. She closed her eyes while he read her own bitter words. She realized maybe she had been too bitter and it was because she was trying to cover up how much she had come to love them personally. “that’s a lot of criticism. Your boss is a piece of work- You should have told me.”

She didn’t answer him.

“it’s not your fault, don’t look at me like that.” She wanted to cry. “Just wish you would have warned me. Maybe next time?” she nodded silently; she didn’t dare to open her mouth because she knew all that would come out were sobs. Neymar pecked her temple and left to go back to his training.

She stood frozen where she was. She could feel waves rising on her chest, ready to drown her. There was havoc in her mind. Galtier’s warnings. Marquinhos words. Neymar’s eyes. Kylian’s touch. The happy memories she had so far mixed with the regret of poisoning them with lies. And all for what? Just to shut Kylian up the first time she met him. Blaming him was easy, it was almost an automatic defensive response. She searched or the nearest exit, storming out of the building and gasping for air.

TRAINING CAMPUS / FRONT ENTRANCE – AFTERNOON

Kylian saw Taylor sitting on the sidewalk just outside the exit of the building. He contemplated talking to her or letting her be.

“Waiting for an uber again?” he asked and she twisted her body to be able to see him. She turned back to her previous position without saying anything. “You never learnt how to drive?” he tried to make a joke, he sat next to her but she moved slightly away from him, sighing.

“Not everyone has the money for cars. Check your privileges.” She murmured.

“Are you ok?” Kylian searched for her eyes, tilting his head. She turned her face the other way, as far away from his as she could. “Taylor!”

“I’m fine!” she snapped, turning her gaze to him. He was baffled by her response. Still a smirk appeared slowly on his face, she wanted to slap it right of him.

“JW giving you a hard time?”

“Goddman it Kylian. What do you want? Hm? What do you want to hear?” She snapped, her eyes burning with a devilish kind of fire.

He observed her face. Her tired eyes, the circles under them. Her lips were dry- why am I looking at her lips? He looked at her neck instead just for a few second before the picture of her half naked figure flashed before his eyes again. He looked back at her eyes and shrugged “nothing.”

“Then leave, can you?”

He bit the corner of his mouth while her eyes lingered on him with anger. He had no reason to stay. He got up, pulling his backpack over his shoulder and walking to his car. He stopped midway. Looked back at her. She seemed… vulnerable. He didn’t think the woman was capable of that but apparently she was as human as the rest of them. There were two voices in his head. One of them wanted to help, genuinely. The other wanted to take advantage of it and sounded more like Verratti. He decided to listen to both.

“do you want a ride home?” She raised her head. Disbelief all over her face. She probably thought he was making a joke. So, he continued “Pretty sure you’ve wasted more money on ubers than food ever since you got here. It’s on my way anyway, so might as well.” She didn’t answer him, which was driving him insane. He spread his hands, awaiting for an answer.

She got up, walked over to him. “if you kill me, Luna will die of hunger and that cat’s death will be on you.” She said, passing him. He stood still for a few minutes, laughing. Yep, there she was back at it.

“When the party’s over” by Billie eilish echoed in the car. The music was low enough to hear the raindrops as they tapped on the window and the top of the car but loud enough to allow both of them to get carried away by the melody and avoid conversation at first. He kept glancing at her, she had her head laid by the window, so he couldn’t really see anything except the back of her neck. He didn’t have to be in her head to know that she was lost in her thoughts. He could sense it in the silence and he was pretty sure she had her eyes closed for most of the ride. He reached to turn of the music, that’s when he got a reaction out of her.

“Don’t” she said, holding his hand. He looked directly at her, for a second forgetting he was driving until she moved her cold hand away. He looked back at the street, focusing on the road “I like this song.” She explained, her voice coming out a little louder than a whisper. He put both hands on the steering wheel to replace the sensation of her palm on his.

“Your hands always that cold?”

“Sorry.” She said bluntly. Looked out the window again. Way to make conversation, he thought and glanced at her. She started humming to the music of the song, turned her head by the window again. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel awkwardly, he didn’t know what to say. He started kissing his own lips, little ‘tsks’ leaving his mouth repeatedly until she smacked his arm- “stop with that it’s annoying.”

“Ouch!” he complained, shifting his shoulder away from her like he had actually been hurt. “femme ingrate” he murmured under his breath. She snapped her head towards him, smacking him again. He gasped, moving his entire body closer to the door.

“Stop it with the french too, it’s even more annoying!” She raised her voice “If you have something to say to me just say it in a language I understand. There!” she pointed angrily at the radio “now the song is over. Thanks for that-“

“You know if you want you can walk out the door, walk back home in the rain.”

That shut her up alright. He let a very low scoff escape his lips as he looked at the street again, mumbling a “putain” under his breath as well. She crossed her arms, leaning deeper in her seat. Now he really wanted to know what was going on.

“Did he fire you or something?” he asked, not looking at her.

“What?”

“Your boss. Did he fire you is this why you are like this-“

“Why do we always have to talk about my boss?” she topped his voice, exasperated.

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“You’re just trying to fish for information” she murmured “I’m not dumb Kylian.”

“Hey I didn’t force you into this car. Alright?”

She bit on her nails, looking away. They didn’t say anything more. He started taping his thumb again, which was driving her insane and he knew by the way her eyes closed and her breathing got heavier. She jumped on her seat, sitting straighter “Alright I’m sorry, you are a hero for driving me home, can you please stop doing that now?” She asked and he moved his one hand away from the wheel, rolling his eyes. He placed it on his thigh instead. “thanks!” she said in relief and sat back again. Silence followed for a few seconds. He doubted she was going to say anything until-

“He didn’t fire me.” She whispered

He was surprised at her reply. His gaze darted between her and the street. He processed her answer, thought about what to say back. “You wanna talk about it?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” She said, biting her thumb, watching as the raindrops found their way to each other on the window.

“try me.”

“I don’t want to.” She answered quickly. “What do you care, anyway? I’m a bitch, right?”

He laughed, he didn’t want to but he couldn’t help it “is this what this is about?”

“You’re not as important to me. Believe it or not, I don’t care about what you think of me.”

“Good cause I’d have to feel really bad if you did.”

She looked at him “what did you say to me during the interviews?” she asked and he held back his own breath. He didn’t want to tell her.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I heard the word sexy, I’m not deaf. And there’s a line Kylian, alright? Those sort of comments go passed it. I won’t have any of it.”

He bit his lips together, so he wouldn’t smile. Didn’t say anything back. They reached her house a few minutes later. He stopped on the sidewalk across from it. She started picking up all her stuff, getting ready to leave.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult.” He suddenly said, making her look at him puzzled. For some reason he was tempted to pick on the strand of hair that was stuck on her lips. Push it behind her ear. He licked his lips while she stared at him “It was a bad joke about you in the uniform.” He explained. Her expression was confusing to him, he couldn’t understand if she was intrigued or annoyed or both.

“Well, don’t let it happen again.” She maneuvered her body to open the door but her grabbed her arm instantly, making her turn to him again, whispering a ‘wait’. And she waited, expecting him to say something, follow with an apology or something. He realized that if he wanted her to open up to him, he had to do so first. He looked away, he didn’t want to be able to see her while he spoke. So he kept his focus on a dumpster across from them.

“You were right.” He said. He was really struggling, closing his eyes and flinching just by the thought that he was answering her questions “About my 100% and my personal life affecting the way I play. I’m trying to work through it. It’s been bugging me ever since Qatar.” He said all that in one breath, part of him hoping she hadn’t even heard it. He had to look at her to make sure she had because she wasn’t saying anything back. He was met with an unfamiliar expression. Her eyebrows were downward, like she was going to start crying. He narrowed his eyes, afraid that she actually would “did you hear me?”

She tensed, like she had woken up from a trance “yeah, yeah. Sorry. Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re not gonna say anything? Not one of your advices or something?”

“I…” her voice trailed off. She coughed, it was a fake a cough, he could tell. She rubbed her forehead nervously “sorry. I’m out of advices for today.” She mumbled, letting out a deep breath. He unbuttoned his seatbelt to move closer to her, shifting his body so it would be facing her. He didn’t understand how close he had gotten until she raised her head to look at him, her hair almost brushing his nose. Their eyes locking together in the silence.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on?” his voice was barely audible. It was more of a breath. Her eyes made him believe she would, that she’d admit to him the whole truth, whatever the truth was. The temptation of touching her returned, maybe that would convince her. He followed her gaze as it moved around, studying all of his face.

“I think you were right too” she said, sorrow growing in her eyes.

“About what?” he asked, frowning.

“Me.” She said it like it was a dirty word. He wanted to know more. He was trying to focus on just one thing but the proximity was starting to dawn on him, just as the vulnerability of the situation. Too close, way too close, he thought. She moved slightly away, tilting her head and he would have held her face, make her look at him if they weren’t both startled by a knock on her window, making them both look behind her.

It was a woman, tall, black long hair, blue eyes, holding an umbrella. His mouth opened slowly “please god tell me that’s not Luna.” He mumbled.

“Trish?” She gasped and got out of the car, the sound of the rain getting louder as she opened the door. The two woman hugged and let out gasps and cries while the rain was washing them both.

“What the ‘ell are you doing here?”

“Wanted to surprise you girl!”

“is every one ok? Is dad ok?”

“He’s fine!”

He watched at them, confused to say the least.

“I can’t believe you’re here-“

“Hey, pardon-“ he tried to get their attention. The tall woman, Trish, looked at him, her eyes widening. “Hi-“ he said but the woman looked directly back at her friend.

“Babe” she said “there’s a hot guy inside that car.”

He smiled wide, laughing, biting his tongue and leaning back on his chair. He could just imagine Taylor’s face by now, throwing daggers at her friend.

“Hey cutie, come help with my bags-“

“TRISH! NO!” tried taylor. But Kylian wasn’t about to let go of this opportunity. He came out of the car, pulling up the hoodie of his jacket to cover his hair from the rain. Trish moved closer to him, keeping her hand out for him.

“Well, hey you.” She smirked “didn’t tell me Kylian Mbappe was driving you around town, taylor.”

“It’s a one time thing.”

“Hm. That’s what they all say” she said to taylor “I’m Trish by the way, a pleasure to meet you.”

Kylian smiled, brought her hand up to his lips and gave it a kiss. He caught Taylor making a vomiting face in the back, that made him smile more as he let go of Trish’s hand. “J’enchante.”

“Ah he’s french.” She gasped, practically looking at him with heart eyes.

“And I am getting wet, if anyone cares” taylor said, moving to the entrance of her house so she’d be covered by rain. Kylian was enjoying this more than he should.

“Is she always this grumpy?” he asked

“You get used to it” Trish smiled and walked with him towards Taylor. Who was struggling to keep all her folders and bags in balance “you don’t mind carrying the bags upstairs do you?” she asked in a singing tone. He could already tell she was the fun one of the two.

“why did you bring two bags? There’s no way Miranda gave you more than two days off.”

“Well what if I meet the love of my life and decide to move here, I had to be prepared.” She winked at Kylian “chances are already very high of that happening.” He laughed awkwardly. She was a flirt, a really good one. He ducked down and grabbed her bags, waiting for taylor to open the door. She had this look on her face, like she hated every minute of this. “Oh, come on taylor” her hands stroked his shoulders as she leaned closer to him “let the man in the building. Don’t tell me a guy like this, hasn’t already seen the inside of your apartment-“

“You are on a time out from on!” taylor cut her off, pointing at her with her keys “and you stop laughing. She’s clearly jet lagged or something.” She turned around and unlocked the door of the building. They walked up the stairs to the second floor and she opened that her apartment’s door. She held it open for both of them, letting Kylian in first.

The house was smaller than his living room and it was messy. It was like a studio, Brown warm colors on the wall, a bed for two, a small desk across from it, the smallest kitchen behind the desk and a separate small room which he could guess was the bathroom. It felt cozy.

Kylian left the bags down on a corner and Trish was next to him moments later thanking him “You’re a true hero. I have to say I’m a huge fan.”

“She’s never watched football in her life.”

“That’s not true” Trish complained “you’ve forced me to watch it repeatedly for your stupid articles-“ Taylor’s eyes widened, she put herself between Trish and Kylian pushing her friend back “have to say she’s very unfair with you-“

“I’m just the analyst.” taylor said, topping her friend’s voice. “JW writes the articles”

“Have you met JW, Trish?” Kylian asked, slipping his hands in his pocket.

Trish paused for the first time since he saw her. Smiling slightly “hadn’t had the pleasure. But he doesn’t sound like a very fun guy does he?” taylor elbowed her, making her groan.

“Don’t you have to go Kylian? We wouldn’t want to hold you here.” She started pushing him out of the door, forcing him to leave. He held on the door frame before she could close it on his face

“You know I was thinking I could drive you to practice tomorrow morning. We could start going together, I mean I pass by your house any way.”

“That’s a yes from me!” Trish said, raising her hand.

“He wasn’t asking you.” Taylor snapped. Looking at her friend and then back at Kylian “That’s nice of you but it’s not necessary. Driving for free with a millionaire while I could be helping the poor uber drivers of Paris-“

“be serious” he said, cutting her off. “It will save you money and time.”

“You know I really need to find my cat, I think she locked herself in the bathroom again so I’ll text you alright? Bye!” she shut the door on his face, leaving him alone on the other side. He smiled. He was so close to getting what he wanted out of her, he wasn’t going to give up now.

Trish walked over to the window, peaking through the curtain at the rain and the street and him. Kylian was walking to his car when his eyes searched the window. She waved her fingers at him playfully, smiling. He nodded and got in his car. That’s when Trish looked at her friend who was just coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

“Why haven’t you told him the truth yet?”

“No one knows. They still think I’m just an assistant.”

“Very convenient for you.”

“it’s not actually.” She raised the glass to her lips

“Do you have this sexual tension with all the players?”

She choked on the water, coughing and tilting her entire body. Trish moved closer, patting her on the back. “You can’t just say shit like that-“

“Sorry!” Trish laughed while her friend was regaining her composure when she stopped coughing and practically dying Taylor let down her glass and wrapped her arms around Trish.

“I missed you.” she said in her shoulder.

“Me too angel! Me too! Tell me all about the hot guys now.”

It was 3am and they were still awake. Well, Trish was half asleep under the covers, answering with mumbles mostly for the last few minutes while Taylor was rambling away about all her adventures ever since she got to Paris.

“Stop staring at that thing it will drive you insane.” Trish said. Taylor had been looking at her phone for a while now. Considering if she should text Kylian or not. “Just text him”

“What if he has malicious intends?”

“If his malicious intend is getting you laid then I’m all for it” she said in the pillow. Taylor pushed her.

“Enough with that. Me and him is never happening! Not with any of the players, I’m gonna be their coach.”

“Ah.” she sighed “love and hate such a thin line between the two, until there isn’t one at all.” With that she started falling in deep sleep.

Taylor continued looking at her screen, opening the messages app and clicking on his name. She bit her tongue, thinking about the worst-case scenario. Why was he so changed all of a sudden? She’s wasn’t dumb. He clearly wanted something. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer right?

Can you come by at 8?

She didn’t move her eyes from the screen, waiting for him to see the message. He did, just seconds later and then the bubbles appeared.

Your Uber drive has been confirmed for 8.

She laughed. God, he was such a dork when he wanted to. She closed the phone and left it on her night stand. Falling asleep next to her best friend.

TAYLOR’S STREET – THE NEXT DAY

“Your friend not coming?” asked Kylian while she opened the door to get in his car.

“She’s coming at the gathering after the game.” She sat down buckling her seatbelt “She was good for your pride, wasn’t she?”

“I mean. It was a breath of fresh air from your constant looks of disapproval.”

She laughed “I’ll let you enjoy it for as long as she’s here then.” She told him and he started the car.

TRAINING CAMPUS – OUTSIDE AREA

“you’re driving her to campus now?” asked Verratti, while he and Kylian were jogging on the pitch. Hakimi was running behind them half listening to what they were saying.

“it’s just part of the plan.” Kylian reassured him. Hakimi looked at his best friend, shaking his head. “I’ll keep an eye on her during the gathering after the game tomorrow. I have a good feeling about it” he smiled.

“I have a feeling you two will be getting your ass kicked soon, and I’ll watch.” Said Hakimi and ran passed them both. Kylian searched for her, finding her sitting with Galtier in one of the benches, showing him a document. He was nodding in agreement before his eyes looked up and landed on him. That’s how they knew, they were talking about him.

STATE DE LA ROUTE DE LORIENT – NIGHT

It had already started raining. At first it was slight drops and everone hoped it’d finish before the game. The true storm was happening inside the locker rooms. Kylian was throwing a tantrum after being told that he’d be benched for the first half of the game. They were fighting with Galtier but it wasn’t like he’d be changing his mind.

When he met Taylor in the hall, he didn’t even look at her. He knew that she had been a part of this choice somehow. He was scared of what would come out of his mouth if he said anything at all. So, he sat behind the benches while she was sitting next to Galtier and her friend Trish.

“You think you can stay calm today?” Asked Galtier.

“Of course!” she smiled “it was just the first match excitement. I promise I’ll be chill.” She clicked her fingers today, trying to look cool.

20 minutes in the game and she had picked a fight with one of the players that were benched on the other time. She was loud, sometimes screaming. No matter her attempts to stay ‘chill’ she couldn’t hide the force of a nature that was coming out of her every time she thought the team was slow or the referees were biased. One of the players from the other team saw it too, he was laughing at her, mocking her along with his friend. Kylian knew the man was done for when she noticed it.

“What are you laughing for?” she yelled. It was the first time Trish looked up from her phone from the entire match. Kylian was watching everything unfold before his eyes. The man on the opposite team laughed at her reaction. Boy, was he about to get a beating.

“Is one off them your boyfriend?” he asked, making it sound like an insult. Kylian wanted to laugh, finally this was getting interesting for him. Trish got up, holding her friend’s shoulder like she knew what was about to follow. She whispered something in Taylor’s ear and taylor made a step back, returning her gaze at the game. Kylian thought that was gonna be it until the last minutes of the first half. The guy had gotten up now, eying her in an inappropriate way. Taylor was getting annoyed, he knew because she kept doing that thing with her fingers, tapping her nails on her thumb repeatedly. She was a time bomb.

“Hey you!” the man said and Kylian bent his body forward, listening or maybe preparing to jump in in case of a crisis. Taylor turned to look at him, it was a deadly stare. “You’re too loud for a woman. Footballs for boys-“

Kylian had jumped of his seat before the guy even finished the sentence. So had taylor who paced towards the guy, holding her head high and yelling in his face “You did you just say to me?” she asked. Kylian stood in front of her moving his body so she wouldn’t be able to go any further.

“Sit down Taylor!” he ordered. The deadly stare was now on him, she was gonna take it on to him.

“I’m not a fucking dog Kylian-“ she yelled. The man laughed louder, like he was enjoying this like he actually wanted her to attack him. Taylor tried to step forward, pointing at the guy “You wanna see how loud I can get?”

His teammates were now pushing back their friend so he wouldn’t go any farther with this. Kylian tried to hold her hand and pull it down but she slapped his away. “don’t fucking touch me!” Kylian wasn’t afraid of her warning, he seized her shoulders, forcing her to turn the other way and pushing her away. She tried to turn back but his grip on her shoulders would get tighter and force her to keep moving.

“You’re on the fucking screens!” he told her and when they were in front of her bench, he sat her down. She crossed her arms, dicing deep into her long and puffy jacket. Puffing the loose strands of hair away from her face. He looked at her, hands on hips like he was about to reprehend her for what she did but he didn’t say anything. Galtier walked up to him, patting him on the shoulder

“You’re in in 5” he said. Kylian nodded and looked at Taylor.

“Try not to make a scene while I’m away.” He warned, unzipping his jacket and taking off his scarfs and cap.

Trish came and sat next to taylor. “Are you ok?” she asked.

“No.” she answered coldly.

Kylian kept an eye on her from the field. She had gone awfully silent. The game was lost, psg lost. Everyone was angry and disappointed. He saw her sitting on the bench still, same way he had left her. Had she actually listened to him?

“Kylian!”

He turned around at the sound of his name. A wide smile spread on his lips when he saw who it “BELLINGHAM! AH!” The two men grasped each other’s hands in a clap and bumping their shoulders together. “How you doing men?”

“Good, mate!”

“What are you doing in Paris?”

“My mom wanted vacation. I wanted to find someone.”

“In Paris?”

“Her name is TJ, apparently she’s on your crew now.”

Kylian was lost “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“It’s TJ Wilock.”

He froze. “You mean taylor?”

“Yes.”

He crossed his arms “how do you know her?” he asked

“She was on the under 8 team in Birmingham city. Lost touch after she was picked out by Chelsea.”

“Chelsea?” Kylian repeated in disbelief. He laughed; it was a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, she was the best they had in woman’s team. Almost joined national as well-“

He couldn’t believe his ears, he thought someone was pranking him and he kept looking around for the cameras.

“You didn’t know?”

“No. I… she doesn’t like to brag I guess.”

“Doesn’t sound like her.” Jude joked. Kylian pretended to be laughing as well. He wanted to punch something. “It’s a shame what happened to her.

Kylan raised his eyebrows. Oh, he really wanted to know more and he did, he learnt anything he could to find out.

She had seen him. It was one of the reasons she stopped reacting. When she saw Jude in the crowd, she knew she could get in trouble. She hadn’t met Jude in years, unlike her he had managed to build a huge career in football, loved by most and his performance in the world cup had made him the favorite new star. If the situations were any different, she would have gone and talked to him. Now she was trying to hide.

“Maybe he didn’t even see me. Why would he?”

“Your face was on the screens” Trish reminded her.

A few moments later Jude had come to say hi and while they were talking about old times Kylian was staring and she knew she was in trouble.

“I saw you on tiktok” he said “fighting that referee. It went viral.”

“Don’t remind me.” She groaned

“Still as badass as you were.” He joked.

“Always.” She smiled.

AFTER GAME GATHERING VENUE – NIGHT

She sat by the bar, keeping her distance from everyone. A glass of red wine in her hand. Everyone else was trying to forget about the game, she was already writing in her mind about how much of a shit show it was and how she still hadn’t proven to Galtier her presence made any real difference.

“Hold that any tighter and you’ll break it.”

She looked to her right and saw Kylian, leaning back on the bar like she was, a bottle of beer in his hand. “Your friend seemed to have fun during the game.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Oh no, I mean the other one. Jude.”

She didn’t look at him. She had known this was coming sooner or later.

“Chelsea, hm?” he asked. She didn’t react “So just to be clear, when you said I was right about you, you meant that you were a bitch or a liar?”

She actually feared that she’d break the glass so she left it on the counter. She wasn’t going to stay around for this, at the end of the day she didn’t really owe him anything. She turned around to leave. Little did she know he was going to follow right back at her.

He caught her on the narrow hallways of the venue that led to the bathrooms, reaching for her arm. She tried to shake him off but he stepped in front of her and trapped her between himself and the wall-

“How can you do this to them?” he asked. How much did he know? “Ever since you’ve come here you’ve lied to their face, to all of us, climbing up the top like a spider-“

“Back of Kylian!”

“You pretend to be their friend while you feed your boss with information about us to write articles like the one he did on Ney.” So, he didn’t know everything yet “and you don’t even have the decency to be honest with them about who you are.”

“My past career is none of your business.”

“It is! when you’re not open about what you’re really here to do because you are clearly not just a journalist.” He stepped closer, she didn’t know how that was possible. She could feel his heartbeat on her skin. She placed her hands on his chest to push him away but he grabbed her palms, pushing her hands downwards. “You think I don’t know you were part of the reason I was benched today?”

“His next article is about you, you know?” she said, almost spitting the words at him. She wasn’t going to be intimated by him, she’d play along “just how broken is the golden boy of France? Perhaps a talent going to waste far too soon-“

“I trusted you- “

“No, you didn’t. you were trying to get close to me and for fuck’s shake you almost succeeded but I’m not an idiot”

“Really?” he looked down at her face, his whisper warming her cheeks whether she liked it or not. Another step forwards and now there was no distance between them “not even a little?”

“You’re fucking delusional.” She stared in his eyes, keep her expression blank “I’m not the one peaking in bathrooms.”

He was baffled for 2 seconds at most because afterwards he started laughing. He didn’t move though, he stayed as close as he was. Biting his tongue “gonna tell him about that as well?” he asked, his face moving closer to hers.

“You’re disgusting, get out of my face-“ she said but she didn’t try to move away. It was like he had put a spell on her, tied her where she was. Suddenly all she could think was his bare chest, his smile, the way he celebrated on the field. Love and hate, such a thin line between them until there isn’t one at all.

“Need I remind you; you were the one on the men’s lockers room the first day you got here.” That reminded her how great that slap had felt on the first day. She slipped her hand away from his to do it again, just as he deserved but he saw it this time and he caught it. Holding her wrists tightly in his hand

“Told you, you’d be in real trouble if you tried this again.” He growled, his voice coming out so raspy, so threatening. She wasn’t sure if it was his heartbeat or hers that she was listening to. She didn’t know if he was the one leaning on her or other way around and she certainly didn’t know why she hadn’t left. She looked at his lips while he spoke, told herself it was because his eyes were too dark. He got even closer, his finger tying around her wrist, pulling her hand down again. She could already imagine what his lips tasted like by the smell of alcohol. She could almost feel it and she almost wanted it. So close.

“Kylian!” A rough voice called from the end of the hallway. Marquinhos.

She almost had it.

FOR STARTERS,,, there is more Jude coming. I just couldn't add it in this chapter. He will be everyone's comfort character because we need it. PLS DO NOT ATTACK ME FOR RHIS ENDING. If you are smelling smoke it's the heat from the next chapter 👀👀👀 bc you know things are obviously getting heated And you haven't seen ANYTHING YET!! Very excited for you to read it 🥹 also clues are piling up. You think Kylian will be figuring out about Taylor soon? 👀

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#kylian mbappe #mbappe imagines #mbappé #mbappe x reader #mbappe imagine #mbappe x oc #neymar one shot #neymar x reader #football writing #football imagine #fan fiction

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